


Boys Will Be Bugs

by Masterofpretending



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Angst, Asexual Charlie Kelly, Childhood, Coming of Age, High School, Homophobic Language, Implied abuse, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Middle School, Practice Kissing, They all deserved so much better, Underage Drug Use, charmac if you want it to be. kinda, compulsory heterosexuality, jerking off together, mac has a shit family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2020-07-27 10:49:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20044750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masterofpretending/pseuds/Masterofpretending
Summary: “But what if I don’t know my own heart?” Mac retorts.His heart has never done anything but make him confused and get him into trouble. It always overwhelms him in the wrong situations and when it’s actually supposed to go wild and crazy, like when he makes out with Ann or watches Michelle Pfeiffer in Batman Returns, it does jack all. In short, Mac’s heart is not to be trusted.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is about Mac growing up and his relationship with Charlie, Dennis and the rest of the world. It's a Macdennis fic but if you want to interpret it that way, it can be a Charmac fic too (they love each other either way so..) !! The first chapter will be short but the chapters basically become longer and longer after that (I'll add tags accordingly) and I'll be posting the next one before the week is over. I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3

_ “I'm a dumb teen boy_

_I eat sticks and rocks and mud _

_ I don't care about the government _

_ And I really need a hug _

_ I feel stupid (stupid) _

_ Ugly (ugly) _

_ Pretend it doesn't bother me _

_ I'm not very strong but _

_ I'll fuck you up if you're mean to bugs” _

** Mac, 8 years old.**

Mac doesn't know how he managed to garner the attention of the popular kids, he only knows he can’t screw it up. It's lunch break, a time Mac usually spends by the special spot behind the appletree, digging for worms hidden just under the surface. It was raining the night before, making the ground especially soft and easy to dig around in and he knows this not just because the air smells wet but also because the heavy raindrops were draining out the sound of his parents “grown-up talk” from downstairs as he fell asleep. But Mac doesn’t have time to look for worms today, Adriano Calvanese has asked him to join the rest of the cool kids to play Star Wars. The Return of the Jedi came out almost two years ago and the kids have been obsessed ever since. The corridors are filled with friends quoting different parts of the movie or passionately fighting over who the best character is. The girls are arguing about whether Han or Luke is cuter, while the boys are still trying to recover from seeing Leia in that slave-bikini. Mac hasn’t technically seen the whole movie yet, but he doesn't tell Adriano that. He was supposed to see it on the same week as it premiered but he got chased out of the theater when some old couple ratted him out for stealing their seats. But Mac doesn't think this has to be a huge problem. He's seen the other kids play Star Wars before and it mostly seems to include waving around sticks, making “whoosh” sounds as the makeshift lightsabers touch. Mac figures it’ll be easy. 

“I get to be Luke,” Adriano says before they even step out on the schoolyard. 

“But you were Luke last time,” Chris, the new boy in school, protests. 

It should be weird that Chris has gotten accepted into the cool gang after only living in Philadelphia for a little over two months, but it's somehow not. Chris has a three-story house with a pool and the biggest brown eyes that Mac’s ever seen. He's the type of person you can't help but instantly like, his angel-kissed pale skin and confident smile as intimidating as it is intoxicating. He also has an Atari at home, something only two other people in the class have, and Mac would give up looking for worms forever for a chance to play with it. He's seen Chris take home other boys from class and sometimes at night when the sounds from downstairs are too loud, Mac imagines what it would be like if Chris asked him instead. He thinks they would talk a lot on the way to Chris's house, about movies, and how much they hate the math teacher, and what sprinkles are the best on chocolate ice cream. He would make Chris laugh and make him to regret that he’d never hanged out with Mac before. They’d get cokes from the fridge before starting the game and they’d take sips out of it through the day, the carbonated liquid tingling on their lips. And Chris wouldn't be angry with Mac when he eventually won the game, he’d just smile, his brown eyes giving away a hint of mischief as he pinned Mac down on the floor for revenge. Then they would wrestle and Mac would-

“I only want to play if I get to be Luke,” Adriano fires back, crossing his arms in a way that everyone just knows means its final.

“You can be Han,” a girl, Keisha Mac thinks her name is, tries to suggest. 

“Whatever,” Chris rolls his eyes, “I just think everybody should get a chance to be every character.”

Mac wants to agree with him, wants to give Adriano and his stupid face a piece of his mind, but he remains quiet, painfully aware of his fragile position in the group. One misstep and he's out. 

“I’m Luke,” Adriano repeats, a dangerous edge to his voice, “Chris can be Han, Kesh, you’re Leia and Ronnie can be… Yoda.”

“Doesn't he die? I don’t want to be the old green dude that dies.” Mac hears himself say before it's too late to stop the words from pouring out. 

The rest of the kids turn his way but thankfully only Keisha has a look of judgment on her face.

“So?” She snarls, “Yoda is smart, smarter than you at least. You should be happy you even get to play with us at all.”

She looks back at the others, her pigtails almost hitting Mac in the face as she turns around.

“I would rather be Yoda than Leia, I don’t want to be in love with Chris.”

Adriano laughs, an evil sound that makes Mac think he should play Darth Vader instead of Luke. Chris looks down at the ground and it's obvious to anyone who pays attention that the snide remark has hurt him. Something painful pokes Mac in his heart watching those brown eyes turn glossy and unsure. Maybe that's why he opens his stupid mouth again or maybe he really is as “goddamn useless” as his dad always says he is. Either way, Mac regrets the words as soon as they come out.

“I can be Leia if you want to be Yoda.”

The kids turn around to look at him again but now all of their faces match Keisha's look of judgment. Adriano is still smiling, like he’s found an angle, a crack he can pick at until Mac falls apart. Chris isn’t smiling and that's almost worse. His brows are furrowed and he's looking at Mac, _really _looking at him for the first time. The game nights, the walking home together, the laughter and wrestling matches, it all slips away and the sharp poking in Mac's little heart has grown into a wild stabbing. 

“Leia is a _girl,_” Keisha says like Mac doesn't already know, like he's even more stupid than he already feels. 

“Yeah, and I’m not gonna be in love with you if that's what you were thinking,” Chris agrees. 

Mac doesn't see them leaving, he's too preoccupied with counting the pebble on the ground, wondering about the worms living under the pavement. The look that Chris gave him, cold and disgusted, keeps playing in his head as the week goes by. He sees it during class, in the pages of his new math book. In his half-eaten plate of food as he sits alone at lunch. In the dark ceiling when the yelling from downstairs keeps him awake. The cool kids don't ask him to play Star Wars again and Adriano takes every opportunity he gets to give Mac dirty looks, whispering out F-A-G when the teachers aren't paying attention. Mac isn't sure what it means but he doesn't like the feeling it gives him, the way it pokes his heart. He’s heard his grampa, Larry, using the word before, either during Christmas or Thanksgiving. He remembers his voice being all slurred and filled with disgust, painfully similar to the disgust on Chris’s face.

“Fags,” he’d say, “I just can’t stand them, in my day we made sure to-”

There was a lot of shouting after that and Mac remembers his older cousin Brett, the one with the lip piercing, saying something about “Empathy and home of phobia”. But how anyone can have a phobia of their own home and how that has anything to do with Mac, is beyond him. 

He goes back to the special spot behind the appletree and asks the worms about it. They don’t answer and Mac wonders if its because they don't want to, or because they too don’t know why all the kids are such a-holes or what it means to be a fag. One day he’s interrupted by one of the other poor kids from class, Charlie. His hair doesn't look like its been brushed since he was born and his shirt has stains on it from yesterday's lunch. He’s a mess but he looks at Mac with interest rather than disgust. 

“So you’re the one they’ve been talking about,” the strange boy conspires. 

“Who?” Mac asks, instantly afraid of whatever rumor Adriano has started about him, “what did they say?”

Charlie just smiles at him, picking at the dirt trapped under his fingernail.

“The worms” he clarifies, “they told me you were cool.”


	2. Chapter 2

_ “It's getting cold down here underneath the weather _

_ I skipped class to sit with you _

_ I really like your spotty sweater, _

_ if Ladybugs are girls _

_ How do you make kids together? _

_ What's it like in a female world _

_ I bet it's just so much better.” _

**Mac, 11 years old. **

Mac really likes Charlie's mom. She doesn't blow smoke in his face and she always makes pancakes when he comes over and pretends to do homework. The house always smells like soap and it's mostly quiet if you disregard the muffled creaking from upstairs when there are guests over. But even that's fine, because Charlie and Mac usually get money for ice cream or food before they’re ushered out and the creaking starts. Once, they even got movie tickets because the man who was coming over, probably Mrs. Kelley's dear friend, worked at the cinema. Mac can't even remember the last time he didn't have to sneak in to see a movie and it was an awesome day even though Charlie insisted that they’d bring a jar of pickles along, making the entire salon stink. 

“Mac, you gotta see this.”

Charlie is so far the only one of the kids in class who’s started calling him Mac. It doesn't matter that he's gone around the schoolyard at least three times shouting it out like an old-timey paperboy, “I got news everyone, I got news, my new name is Mac, Ronald McDonald is dead and Mac McDonald lives on!”

Everyone still calls him Ronnie, or Ronald, or fag. Well, the last one is mostly used by Adriano and even though Mac doesn't like it, Charlie tells him to look on the bright side; one of the popular kids has a nickname for him, that means they at least they know he exists. 

“What?” 

Charlie is elbows deep in his backpack, looking inside it like he’s found a long lost treasure. They're in Charlie's bedroom for once, a place usually reserved for when they can’t go outside and there are guests downstairs. Charlie is always so skittish in here, he keeps looking over at the door like somebody is gonna burst in with a gun, and sometimes when they’re in here Mac thinks he can hear him mumbling about a “nightman” with strong hands. Charlie is undoubtedly Mac’s weirdest friend but he is also Mac’s only friend. And unlike the worms, he actually answers back when Mac talks to him. 

“Somebody hid a letter in your backpack!” Charlie exclaims as he finally reveals a pink envelope sealed with a shimmering heart sticker that Mac is sure he's seen in Target only a week prior. The envelope is addressed to “Ronnie/Mac” and Mac instantly feels good about this mystery person since they obviously paid attention to his recent name switch. Charlie opens the envelope and starts reading out loud;

“_ De...har... Mac,_” He looks at Mac pointedly, as if to confirm that yes, the letter is indeed about him, 

“_ I thank… you _… “ He brings the letter closer to his face, “-and then there’s like a spot right there…” 

Mac shuffles closer in order to read the letter over Charlie's shoulder.

“Dear Mac,” he reads, “I think you’re really cute even when you yell out the wrong answers in class.”

“Oh,” Charlie nods, but Mac isn't sure he’s really getting it at all. He has that same look on his face as when the teachers ask if he's keeping up. 

“See, the spot isn't actually a spot dude,” Mac tries to explain, “it's an astronomy, wait no, _approstofie,_ it's used to like… um, shorten words.”

“Why would you want to shorten a word? Doesn't that just make things more confusing… like, how do you know what the real word is?”

Mac sighs, “I_ guess,_ I think grown-ups just like to make things all fancy and complicated to make themselves feel better.”

“What if,” Charlie conspires, that wild look on his face that Mac has grown accustomed to faster than he thought he would, “-in the future, all words become shortened versions of themselves and everyone forgets how to talk.”

“I don’t know,” Mac repeats, “look, can we get back to the letter?”

Charlie nods but Mac knows he’s not really focused anymore. He’s years away, living his life in an alternative future where you have to shorten all your words to be understood. Mac continues reading anyway, the letter is for _him_, doesn't matter if Charlie is listening or not. 

“Come meet me in the library ALONE after math class on Monday. XOXO - your secret crush. “

Mac looks up at Charlie with what he suspects might be a look of fear rather than excitement. 

“She underlined _alone,_ what does that even mean?” He puts the letter down on the floor and snaps his fingers in front of Charlie's face to get his attention. 

“This is important Charlie,” he pleads, “I think this girl is seriously into me.”

Charlie blinks at the empty wall above his bed before looking back at Mac, “Well yeah, of course she's into you,” he smiles. 

Mac can't help but smile back, giving the other boy a light shove by the arm to make up for it. 

He points to the end of the letter, “XOXO, that means kiss, hug, kiss, hug.”

“Wow,” Charlie breathes, carefully studying the X’s and O’s on the paper like they have some hidden meaning, “she wants to kiss you?”

Mac looks down at the letter, the pink paper heavy in his hands, then back up at Charlie, his deep brown eyes lit up with a sparkle only reserved for special moments like these. 

“I haven’t… “ Mac starts, his tongue feeling weirdly dry as he tries to get the words out, “I haven't kissed anyone before, what if I’m shit?”

Charlie seems to think it over, humming loudly as he tilts his head to the ceiling. Maybe, Mac thinks, he’s silently asking God if _ he _ thinks Mac will be shit at kissing. Mac would ask God himself if he could, but God has never answered any of his questions before. When Mac thinks about it, God is kind of like a big, invisible, worm but instead of crawling around under the pavement, he looks down at them from the clouds. 

“We could practice a little bit beforehand.”

Charlie is still looking up at the ceiling and Mac doesn't even register what he's said at first. 

“What?” He hums.

“Well,” Charlie shrugs, “we’re friends, I could give you like, eh, pointers about your technique or whatever. You know; too much tongue, not enough tongue, that kind of stuff.”  


“You…” Mac hesitates, “you’d do that for me?”

Charlie finally turns around to face Mac again and despite the slight blush creeping up on his neck, he looks pretty normal, like he hasn't just suggested… _that._

“I mean, yeah, you’re my friend, _ best friend,_ so… yeah.”

Mac can’t remember Charlie calling him his best friend before. It's always been implied but maybe the whole “kissing” thing is taking them to another level. Either way, it makes Mac want to kiss him right away, just to let out the pure joy filling his chest as he breathes.

“Okay,” Mac smiles dumbly, “do I… hold your hands or…?”

Mac shuffles closer, close enough for the fabric of Charlie's jeans to touch the bare skin on Mac’s knee. 

“I don’t know,” Charlie ponders before taking Mac’s hands in his, testing them out. 

“They might get sweaty.”

“They won’t get sweaty,” Mac protests even though he already feels his hands getting warm in Charlie's embrace. 

“What if I, um,” Mac takes back his hands and lets them rest of Charlie's shoulders instead, “just have them here and..”

He’s not sure what do do next. In the movies the girl and the boy usually lean in at the same time, but who leans in first if they’re both boys? Mac leans down slowly, his eyebrows raised as if to ask “is this okay?” because he doesn't think he can open his mouth to speak. Charlie smiles back, closes his eyes and puckers his lips, making himself as ready as one can get for a moment like this. Mac swallows once, twice. He doesn't want his first kiss to be a saliva-fest even if he knows Charlie would be nice about it. He closes his eyes but opens them again when he realizes he doesn't accidentally want to make out with Charlie’s nose. 

“Okay,” he finally says, to himself more than to Charlie, “here we go.”

Kissing is nothing like in the movies. It’s quick and dry and you don’t even have time to focus on it because you’re so afraid of puking up your own heart. Charlie doesn't lean into Mac as he presses his mouth onto his lips, but he doesn't pull away either. Mac thought he would have tasted like mud or gasoline but he tastes like nothing, just warmth. Maybe that's normal when kissing boys.

“Right…” Charlie says, “that was good, don’t worry, but maybe we could do it again and have it be more of a- eh, open mouth thing.”

Mac lets out an involuntary laugh, “right, right,” he agrees, “I was just testing you.”

~~~

When Mac walks home that same night the pink envelope is securely tucked in his back pocket, the notion of it no longer a threat but rather a possibility. His lips are a bit sore but its all worth it. With the help of Charlie, his _best friend _ and official kissing coach, Mac not only has perfected the amount of tongue and where to put your hands, but he has also learned some new tricks that Charlie _ swears _ will make anyone swoon. 

The next day he waits in the library short of fifteen minutes before anyone shows up, spending the entirety of the time rehearsing all the steps he and Charlie went through the previous night. Hands on neck, tongue after counting to ten, boob grabbing after counting to fifty, it's all planned perfectly. 

  
The girl's name is Ann, or maybe Anna, Mac can’t really remember. She's one of the quiet girls that never raises her hand in class but always has the right answer. She's cute, Mac knows because he’s heard the other guys calling her that in the locker room. She's not a Brooklyn or Keisha but she's _cute_, her brown hair up in a neat ponytail and her dark eyes decorated with the longest eyelashes that Mac’s ever seen. They stand hidden in the “foreign language” section of the library when they first kiss. It’s not really an arrangement or a discussion, it just sort of happens. For a second Mac is afraid he’ll forget all about Charlie’s advice but when their lips interlock, Mac can picture it clear as day. He imagines Charlie's freckled neck when he wraps his hands around Ann and Charlie’s tongue on his, warm and familiar. It all goes according to plan for once and Ann almost knocks over a shelf with books on her way out, making the librarian, Miss Klinksy, shush her angrily. Ann stutters a “sorry,” before turning around, giving Mac a shy wink, the classical one-eyed blink. Mac makes a mental note to thank Charlie a thousand times over.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Me: Uhh posting a new chapter is the same as actually writing, right???
> 
> Btw, for those who are reading for that sweet Macdennis shit, it's coming (at some point), don't worry!

_ “I just turned fourteen _

_ And I think this year I'm gonna be mean _

_ Don't mess with me, I'm a big boy now and I'm very scary _

_ I punch my walls, stay out at night, and I do karate.” _

**Mac, 14 years old**

“Does my hair look fine?”

"Nobody’s gonna care about your hair, dude.”

“Of course they are, what if they think my hair is stupid and pour bleach all over it or something. Those guys are animals, last week Adriano made me eat a spider!”

“What- you were the one who asked _him_ if he wanted to see you eat a spider! Besides, where would they even get bleach from?”

“Are you kidding, all houses have bleach, everybody knows that!”

Mac almost walks past Keisha's house thinking about whether or not he has bleach at home but stops when the rainbow lights from one of the windows shine directly into his eye. Apparently, the party has already started judging by the catchy pop music from inside and the bikes leaning on the thick apple tree in the middle of the garden. 

“Charlie, _Charlie,_” He says, putting his hands firmly on Charlie’s shoulders, “You need to focus. This is our chance buddy, all we have to do is not be weird for one night and we might get to be a part of the cool kids.”

Charlie looks almost tired when he faces Mac, “You really think so?”

“Of course I do.”

Inside, the music is blasting so loud that Mac can’t hear Charlie anymore but it doesn't really matter. At this level of their friendship, one does not need words, you practically coexist. Mac just has to nod his head towards the living room for Charlie to follow him like a baby duck follows their mother. 

“I’m so glad you came,” Ann tells Mac when she spots the boys walking in. 

She has cut bangs over the summer that hides her eyelashes and Mac thinks it's a pity. He remembers thinking they were cute when the two of them used to fool around after class. She’s the one who invited them, well, invited _ Mac _ technically, but it's an unspoken fact that Charlie would join too. 

“Of course we came,” Mac smirks, doing his best impression of someone who always gets invited to parties. He can do this, he has to do it, not just for him but for Charlie too. If they become a part of the cool kids no one will make fun of either of them ever again. No one will laugh at Charlie when he eats bugs or shout “Ronald McDonald” after Mac in the corridors. They’ll get the respect they always deserved. 

It looks like Ann blushes but it's hard to see in the dim light. She gives Mac a shy smile before walking back to her friends, whispering and giggling about some girl shit that Mac couldn't care less about. Charlie and Mac re-group on the sofa to make an assessment of the room and identify possible areas where they could make their move. 

“I see no bleach lying around, so I think we at least got that going for us.”

Mac runs a hand through his hair to ease his frustration, “Will you please drop the whole thing with the bleach.”

Charlie sighs but doesn't protest. 

“Okay, _so,_” Mac says, trying to sound more at ease as he switches topics, “I see the cool kids doing some sort of ritual thing on the floor.”

Charlie nods, studying the group of teens having gathered in a perfect circle on the floor. He narrows his eyes in a way that Mac knows means he's trying to listen in to what they're saying. 

"Could be satanic," he mumbles.

In the corner of the room sits a guy. He has brown skin and dark hair like Keisha but he looks at least a year older and Mac hasn't seen him in class before. He could be a security threat, Mac decides, the guy kind of just sitting there, apathetic and possibly planning something. In the other corner are Ann and her friends, probably talking about makeup and tampons while moving along to the music. Mac should go over, ask her to dance, bring her a drink, but he really isn't feeling it. Maybe it's the new bangs or maybe it's the fact that kissing Ann never really was like in the movies. Satanic rituals it is.

"Come on," he says, tugging Charlie along by the sleeve of his shirt.

They practically have to fight their way into the tight circle and once they finally get to sit down Adriano doesn't miss a beat calling them out.

"Who invited Dirtgrub?" He snarls.

"Actually, it's Charlie, but that's okay, you can call me whatever you want, besides I have no problem with dirt, it's pretty okay if you mix it with something to make it taste a little more sweet, maybe blend it together with a spoon or something... "

Mac resists the urge to groan. The situation is slipping out of his reach before he even had a chance to take a hold of it. He has to take control before Charlie ruins this whole thing and starts volunteering to eat stuff, probably starting with a scoop of dirt from outside.

"We want in," Mac demands, meeting Adriano’s eyes with a challenge. In turn, he meets Mac’s look with ease, a characteristic smugness on his face. He's wearing a gray and blue baseball tee and Mac can’t help but think it fits him nicely. He’s managed to get a bit of a tan over the break, probably from having visited his family in Italy and spending his days by the beach. Mac’s only been outside Philly twice. Once in Vermont for his grandpa's funeral and once to New Jersey for a day-trip on the Catholic Camp that someone, probably his mom, signed him up for after getting caught huffing glue in the basement with Charlie. 

"Oh my God," Keisha groans, interrupting Mac’s and Adriano’s unofficial staring contest, "it's not that big of a deal, let them join if they want to." 

Adriano gives Mac a cold smile before breaking eye contact, "Whatever, it's my turn anyway," he says.

Mac and Charlie look at one another. Turn?

"And I dare Ronald McDonald to touch Dirtgrub’s wiener for 15 seconds."

“Woah, _ woah _,” Mac protests, almost standing up on reflex. 

“Okay, wait,” Charlie says at the same time, “that’s not what we signed up for here.”

“Um,” Keisha gives them both that judgemental side-eye she's always been so good at, “actually you _ did _, have you guys never played dare or dare before?”

“We thought this was a satanic thing!” Charlie announces and as much as Mac appreciates his passion, he's pretty sure it's making the situation worse because Adriano just grins wider. 

“I don’t care what you thought it was. If you’re in the game you have to do what I say.”

Mac takes it all back, Adriano looks shit in that shirt and his Italian tan makes him resemble a stupid, stupid turd. 

“I’m not fucking gay,” Mac says like it's supposed to magically solve the issue.

“No one here is gay, that's not the point,” Keisha says and under the clear annoyance in her tone, Mac thinks he can sense some reassurance. At least he feels reassured. 

Charlie looks tense, like he sniffed too much gasoline again and is seeing his life flash by. Mac thinks he might pass out, or at least run away, but he doesn't. He sits perfectly still, his voice only cracking a bit as he says, 

“It’s okay, Mac.”

Mac furrows his brows because Charlie looks far from being okay with it. His eyes are glued to the wall and his face is getting paler by the second. It doesn't make sense until the realization finally hits him like a brick to the face. This is Charlie's sacrifice, what he’s willing to do for the prize of popularity, for his future. _ Their future._ Mac knows for a fact Charlie doesn't like this type of touching, actually, he doesn't like most touching, and yet he's ready to do what needs to be done. He trusts Mac, his best friend, his only friend, and Mac isn't sure what to do with it all. One the one hand, he can’t stand Charlie like this, a thousand miles away and pretending like everything is fine. But on the other, if this is what he wants, who is Mac to say it isn't fair? Mac is supposed to be their leader and he’s pretty sure this is one of those movie moments where he has to decide just what type of leader that is. A leader willing to let somebody else take the fall and make the sacrifice, or a leader who puts himself on the line first? 

“No, it’s not Charlie, I’m not doing it.” 

Adriano stands up and Mac instantly follows, his karate instincts kicking in as he senses the threat. 

“If you don’t,_ I will,_” Adriano snaps and Charlie flinches, looking away from the wall to give Mac a pleading look. It's a look that says “protect me” and Mac nods, puffing out his chest and crossing his arms to assert dominance. 

“You are not touching him,” he bites back. 

But Adriano just huffs, taking a step closer to Mac so that their noses almost touch, forcing Mac to breathe in his gross, grown-up cologne. 

“Charlie, get up, we’re leaving, ” Mac says.

Adriano raises an eyebrow as Charlie gets on his feet, looking anxiously between the two boys. 

"What are you gonna do, hmm?" Adriano says, somehow making the words sound innocent despite Mac feeling like this is a full-on life or death situation. 

When Mac doesn't answer Adriano takes a bold step forward, his hands reaching for Charlie like a hunter reaches for his gun before the kill. And Mac has to react, has to do _something_, so he lunches forward, his fist finding its way to Adriano’s cologne dowsed, over-tanned, stupid face before he even has time to think about it. The music in the background is beating along with his heart and it's almost a blissful moment, that single second before everything erupts into chaos. And then it happens all at once. Someone rushes forward to help Adriano up from the floor while someone else runs to get paper towels for his bleeding nose. Mac doesn't remember much else except Charlie yelling "Eat piss!" as they run out of the house. They run and run, and run until their lungs feel like collapsing and their legs might fall off. Charlie is red in the face from exhaustion but Mac thinks it looks better than when he was ghostly pale. They crash on a bench near Mac's house to catch their breaths, the realization of what they've just done sinking in with each inhale.

"That was awesome dude, you just-" Charlie raises his eyebrows to his forehead and bulges out his eyes in a crazed look, hitting the air with his closed fists over and over again, "and he was like, 'no, no, don't kill me, I'll do whatever you want, blrghhh'"

He slumps down on the bench, closing his eyes and sticking his tongue out in a dramatic reenactment of the death of Adriano Calvanese. Mac laughs, his head thrown back against the night sky and Charlie soon follows him, only opening his eyes again to mimic Mac in looking up at the stars. They turn silent but it's a comfortable silence, the type of silence that comes with the end of a concert or when your parents finally stop fighting in the other room.

“Thank you,” Charlie says, his voice so low that Mac almost doesn't hear it. 

“You know, for not touching my dick.”

Mac doesn't answer at first because what the hell do you even say to that? He just keeps looking up at the stars, wondering if God is pissed at him for not turning the other cheek and coming to the conclusion that he doesn't care either way. Normally he would feel guilty for doing something that is so clearly against the Bible but tonight he actually feels like he made the right choice. He doesn't know how he knows, he can just feel it with every fiber of his being when he looks over at Charlie and the relief written all over his face. If this isn't what God wanted, God is a dick. 

“Yeah, any time, dude.”

~~~

When school starts again nobody calls Mac Ronald McDonald anymore, they don’t call him anything. They either look at him with narrowed eyes and hatred or pure fear. A part of Mac wants to tell them that he’s not dangerous, he's just a normal kid who got caught in a strange situation. But the truth is, strangeness has followed Mac his whole life and somewhere along the way maybe he has to accept that it's not a coincidence. His dad keeps a gun in the cereal box, his mom smokes a pack of cigarettes a day. His first kiss was with a boy who eats spiders to impress people and his real name is synonymous with a clown. In many ways, Mac was born a freak, the odds against him before anyone even had the chance to bet. Charlie just shrugs when he tells him this. 

“I think everyone’s a little bit freaky on the inside, some people are just better at hiding it.”

It would put Mac at ease if those words weren't coming from someone who spent their lunch breaks sniffing whiteboard pens in the bathroom and orchestrating worm-races behind the swings. Charlie is the definition of weird and maybe, in a sad way, that's why he’s the only person who’s been able to tolerate Mac’s existence for this long. Maybe Charlie is so insane he doesn't even register all the parts of Mac that seems to drive everyone else mad. And maybe Mac is crazy as well, having never once in their friendship considered leaving Charlie. Not when he peed next to him in the public pool. Not when he forced Mac to help him choreograph a dance number to “Take My Breath Away”. Not when they have sleepovers and Charlie wakes him up with his screams. And not even when he randomly gets ticked off, yelling about words that don’t make any sense and sounds that are too loud. If Mac was normal he wouldn’t be hanging out with someone like Charlie, he’d stay as far away as possible. So Mac guesses he’s not entirely normal after all and maybe that's okay too because he’s never felt at home anywhere but when he's with Charlie. 

This profound realization is interrupted by someone tapping him on the shoulder, making Mac turn around, ready for another fight. 

“Yo,” the older guy from the party greets, “its Mac, right?”

The guy is wearing an orange shirt that's a little too big for him but Mac has to admit that it's kind of cool in a laid back sort of way. The three of them are standing by the stairs right outside of school, Mac having waited for Charlie while he was forced to have a “serious talk” with the english teacher about his interpretation of “Lord of the Flies”. All the other kids from class are already on their way home and Mac doesn’t think anyone even noticed the two of them lagging behind. 

“Yeah,” Mac answers reluctantly, “I saw you at the party at Keisha's house but I haven't seen you at school before.”

The guy smiles like Mac just told a joke and says, “Yeah, I’m her brother, Will. I used to go to another school but I started here when I moved, it was a whole thing.”

Will looks around and gestures for the two boys to follow him around the corner where they are shielded from the curious looks of teachers and students. Charlie hesitates but Mac tugs at his sleeve to follow. Mac doesn't know if it's the orange shirt or the fact that the guy called Mac by his new name, but he trusts him. It might also be because he’s a tiny bit curious about why someone would willingly be living away from their own sister. If Mac had a sibling he’d make sure to exploit that shit every day; making her a decoy as he shoplifts and tricking her into drinking Charlie’s mud-smoothies. 

“I saw what you did to Adriano’s nose,” Will says once they're standing by the graffitied wall behind the main entrance, “and I just wanted to say, that was tight, it was like the only fun thing that happened that night.”

He looks like he genuinely means it and it fills Mac with such pride he has to steal a glance at Charlie to make sure they're both seeing this. Charlie on the hand does not look proud, he looks like he's waiting for the catch, which, frankly, Mac finds insulting. Why does everyone have to have an ulterior motive, can’t a guy compliment Mac simply because Mac is worth complimenting?

“So…” Will coughs discreetly into his own fist, “you guys wanna buy some weed?”


	4. Chapter 4

_ “I'm a dumb teen boy _

_ All I wanna do is quit _

_ My mum told me that she's worried _

_ And I couldn't give a shit _

_ I have friends who understand me _

_ Their names are spider, beetle, bee _

_ They don't say much but _

_ They have always listened to me.” _

**Mac, 15 years old. **

A lot of things happens the year Mac and Charlie start high school. The first week of the new year, before any books have been read or any tests have been failed, Mac’s dad is sent to prison. The official charge is “possession with the intent to distribute” which Mac assumes is grown-up language for being a drug dealer. He remembers the day it happens, how he came home from school only to see cop cars parked outside. He remembers his stomach sinking and his legs not wasting a second to run inside. He remembers thinking there was still time to get the situation under control, there was still time to save him. But his dad isn't Charlie; his crimes are far beyond just being weird and they're not going to be solved with a punch to the face.

“Ronald, you never did listen to me,” his dad tells him a couple of days later, dressed in orange and separated from the rest of the world with glass 22mm thick, “but I need you to listen to me now, and listen carefully.”

Mac nods, doing his best to hold back the tears that have been threatening to make an untimely appearance all week. His dad sighs and Mac wonders if he's tired, if he's getting enough sleep in this place, if anyone could. 

“You’re the man of the house now,” he continues, “you need to step up, no more pussy-ing around.”

Mac nods again, more profusely this time. He's ready to be whatever his dad wants him to be. Every family needs a mother and a father figure, if Catholic Camp and bible study taught him anything, its that. A mom and dad are like the two pillars holding up the family unit, keeping everything balanced. That's why the whole gay thing doesn't work and that's why Mac needs to take over as the family leader while his dad is gone. 

“I’ll be the man, dad,” Mac reassures him, “I’ll take care of everything, I promise.”

~~~

Will’s dad was in prison at one point, he doesn't like to talk about it but he’s never kept it a secret. Mac is not sure what happened or what he was charged for but he’s sure it's all a part of the reason why Will moved to live with his mom instead. Maybe that's why he’s the first one that Mac tells instead of Charlie. He knows Will won’t try to give him any pity or words of comfort, and that in itself is comforting. It's not like he thinks Charlie would either, but Mac can read him far too well by now, he knows when the kid is feeling bad for him even when Charlie doesn't know it himself. It's like a bug crawling on Charlie's unwashed skin and he gets this look of helplessness, like he wants to take care of the bug but can't see it, doesn't know how. So he just brings him shoplifted candy or offers Mac to join him when he sniffs glue. And as much as Mac appreciates the gesture it's not what he needs right now. 

“That fucking sucks, man,” Will says, taking another inhale of his hand-rolled blunt, “do you know what drugs it was?”

They’re sitting under the bleachers but it's a Sunday so no one is out on the field playing. Mac should be in church, asking for God's advice rather than the advice of a teenage drug dealer. But Mac knows God won’t answer any of his calls and right now he doesn't need silence and reading between the lines to find answers, he needs a solid plan. 

He plays absentmindedly with the hems of his ripped shorts, “I know for sure there was meth but there might have been some other drugs too, heroin maybe.”

Will looks straight ahead when he takes another hit, “that fucking sucks,” he repeats. 

“Yeah,” Mac agrees, “and now, suddenly, I have all these responsibilities.”

Will hums in agreement so Mac continues, speaking faster to get all the words, all the worries that he's carried so heavy, out before he can change his mind. 

“I gotta find a job, I have to keep the family unit intact so that everything doesn't fall apart. And, like, I’ll do it, you know I’m tough and all that, but I didn't expect it to be like this-”

“Hold on, man," Will interrupts, accidentally blowing smoke in Mac's face as he turns around to look at him, "If its a job you need, you know I got you."

Mac doesn't even remember where he was going with his whole speech because this is a revelation he was not prepared for. 'Will the employer and generally good friend' is not something he thought he'd ever say, but it has a nice ring to it.

"Really?"

"Yeah," Will smiles.

He's wearing a white T-shirt tucked in in the front of his pants and was it not for the giant mickey mouse taking up the fabric, Mac thinks he could look like an angel. His skin is golden where the sun hits him and Mac could pretend that the redness in his eyes is on account of having to bear the sins of man. The only thing missing is a couple of giant, badass wings and maybe he could deliver all of Mac's messages to God personally. 

"I'm gonna need to focus on studying and shit this year so I'm not gonna have much time to go around selling anyway, you could help me out."

Mac nods reluctantly. A part of him is scared to take up Will's mantel as the school's designated drug dealer. It's not like he hasn't done illegal shit before but this is different. Drugs can land you behind 22mm of glass separating you from every single person who ever cared about you. And sure, the list of people who'd show up for Mac in prison is short but he'd still prefer to be a free man. 

"I'll teach you everything I know," Will says, giving Mac a lazy pat on the shoulder, "trust me, it'll be fine."

~~~

It turns out it's not fine.

"I just don't get what so great about him," Charlie says, kicking a half-empty beer bottle laying on the ground, "what is he, like forty? Why does he even want to hang out with you, it doesn't make sense."

"He's seventeen," Mac corrects, "wait- what do you mean 'why does he want to hang out with me'?’ I’m a freaking catch."

Charlie walks ahead of him to kick the beer bottle again. The liquid that's still left at the bottom of it splashes across the pavement and Mac makes a point of not stepping on it as he follows. The two of them spent the day at the public pool but they didn't manage to stay long in the freezing water, instead opting for laying in the grass and looking up at the clouds. Charlie kept seeing monsters and devils in the strange shapes and they passed the time arguing about whether or not God is the one who decides the shape of the clouds. Mac thinks he does, why else would they have hidden messages in them? But he doesn't think the clouds look like devils, Charlie just has a warped perspective, that's all.

“No, come on dude, I don’t mean it like that,” he says but Mac notices his inability to look him in the eyes, “I just think it's weird, why  _ you _ , you know? Just because your dad was a good drug dealer doesn't make you a good drug dealer.”

Charlie stops in his tracks, deep in thought, “actually, your dad probably wasn't even a good drug dealer, I mean he’s locked up now so…”   
  


That stings. Mac has often found himself irritated at Charlie but he's never wanted to hit him before, like  _ really _ hit him. His fists are so clenched that they hurt and his jaw tightens to the point where he isn't sure he can even talk anymore. 

“You get caught, you fail, that's like simple math, or, um, logic… stuff.”

“Charlie,” Mac bites out, making Charlie finally turns around to really look at him. Their eyes meet and something in Mac’s face must have translated the anger he's containing because Charlie swallows, nervously tugging at the fabric of his dirt-green jacket. 

“Shut up,” Mac says and so, Charlie does. 

~~~

It's been two days since Mac and Charlie last spoke. After their fight Mac practically ran home, not wanting to spend one more second looking at Charlie’s stupid rat-face. Nobody insults his dad,  _ no one _ . Especially when he's not there to defend himself. If he was a free man right now he’d have no problem confronting Charlie, giving him one of those icy glares that make your heart drop to your toes, making you promise to never do another mistake in your life ever again. 

It's been two days since Mac and Charlie last spoke and it might have been killing him was it not for Will. They've been hanging out under the bleachers after school and Will has been teaching him everything from how to price different types of weed to the best hiding places if the cops search you. Whenever Mac starts to worry about Charlie, whether he's eating right and keeping away from the scary homeless guys under the bridge, Will always finds a way to distract him. Most times he just blows smoke in Mac’s face (because apparently, Mac makes funny faces when inhaling second-hand smoke) but other times he asks him questions. Most questions Mac can't really answer because he has no idea of what he wants to become when he grows up or what he thinks of the latest scandal that everybody who isn’t ‘willfully ignorant or just living under a rock’ should have heard about. It makes him feel like such a child but he still likes that Will cares enough to ask even when he can't answer. He doesn't ask about Charlie though, and Mac can't decide if he's grateful or not. On one hand, he doesn't  _ want _ to talk about Charlie but on the other, it's all he can think about. 

“Maybe you could be a bounty hunter,” Will says, his voice snapping Mac back into reality, “they’re kinda like cops except they don't have a fucking stick up their ass.”

Mac snorts, he has no idea of what bounty hunters really do but he likes imagining every cop he’s ever met with a giant, itching, stick up their butt. 

“I don’t know,” he mumbles back. 

It's not like he hates thinking about the future, he just doesn't have anything that he's overly passionate about yet. He likes God and he likes being badass but those two interests hardly give him a clear direction of where he's headed next. He's not like Will who seems to somehow have it all figured out despite spending most of his time high. He's planning on going into marketing because apparently selling weed taught him that selling, in general, is really fun. “It's like a high in itself,” he tells Mac, “to know you earned that money because you’re just  _ that _ good, you know.” Mac does not know but he figures he’ll feel it when he himself makes his first sell. 

“Isn’t this your house, man?”

“Hm?” Mac looks up and yes, that is indeed his house. He never really reflected on where the two of them were going but home seems as good as any place right now. 

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

Will nods and gives him a lazy wave before heading in the opposite direction, towards the more upper-class neighborhood. Mac watches him for a while as he ambles away, humming the tune of “jump”. He’s wearing a bright blue and pink sweater and when he turns around the corner the world gets just a little bit more gray. 

When Mac gets home his mom is already sitting in the sofa, having what must be at least her twentieth cigarette of the day.

“Who was that?” 

Mac flinches because it was a while ago since he heard his mom making a sound that didn't resemble a grunt. 

“Um, that guy from outside? That’s Will, we’re buddies.”

His mom takes a deep inhale of her cig, avoiding Mac’s look of concern as she says, “I don’t like it, those damn foreigners.”

“Huh? No, no-” Mac laughs as he realizes the silly mistake his mom has made, “Will isn't from India, he's from  _ Indiana,  _ but I think he might have been born in Philly because he’s totally an Eagles fan _ .” _ __   
  


His mom grunts, takes another inhale, coughs and grunts again, “I don’t like it,” she repeats. 

~~~

“Son, I think you’ve misunderstood the purpose of confession.”

Mac sighs against the dark wood of the confessional, his hands tightly clasped together in his lap. He's wearing his usual church attire; his white, newly ironed shirt with his black plants. The steel blue tie wrapped around his neck is the only thing that's new. He found it in his dad's drawer and he figures since he's the man of the house now, he's allowed to wear it. It’s warm and makes it a bit hard to breath (he might have made it to tight) but it doesn't matter because the sense of authority that comes with it feels like a rush. Maybe this is the feeling Will was talking about; the thrill of the sale might just be the thrill of control. 

“No, just listen,” Mac ushers, trying to restrain his growing frustration towards the somewhat slow priest, “I just need you to ask God what the right answer is.”

“But what precisely is your confession?”

“I just told you, I’m confused and I don’t know what to do,  _ that's my confession _ .”

“But you-” the priest seemingly stops himself mid-sentence, takes a long sigh and instead says, “Very well, explain it to me one more time and I’ll do what I can to help you.”

“Great, that's all I wanted!” Mac exclaims, relieved that the priest is finally,  _ finally _ , getting it. 

“So I have this friend that I really like because he wears cool shirts and he doesn't care about what other people think of him,” Mac retells the story, “but my other friend who I also really like, doesn’t like  _ him _ and he's being a total Judas about it.”

“I see.”

“And my mom doesn't like him either but I think it's because she doesn't know the difference between India and Indiana and I don't want to make her upset but it’s like also not my fault that she's bad at geography.”

The priest is silent for a while and maybe, Mac hopes, that means he's talking to God and asking for advice. 

“My son,” he finally says, “a mother's instinct is seldom wrong but in the end, you must follow your own instinct, your own heart.”

“But what if I don’t know my own heart?” Mac retorts, because he  _ really _ doesn't. 

His heart has never done anything but make him confused and get him into trouble. It always overwhelms him in the wrong situations and when it’s actually supposed to go wild and crazy, like when he makes out with Ann or watches Michelle Pfeiffer in Batman Return, it does jack all. In short, Mac’s heart is not to be trusted, especially not in life-changing decisions regarding his friendships.

“Then you must look up to somebody else, someone whom you trust would make the right decisions,” Mac’s hands instantly go to the rough fabric of the steel-blue tie, toying with it between his fingers, “perhaps Jesus Christ or even the Lord himself-”

“Thank you, father,” Mac interrupts, “I know what to do now.”

~~~

It’s not hard to find Charlie when you’re actually looking for him. It's Monday, one day since church and four days since Mac and Charlie last spoke. It's been raining all night and the ground feels like its kissing Mac’s feet as he runs along to the spot of land in the schoolyard that he knows has the biggest density of worms. And there he finds him, wearing a worn-out hoodie, sitting on the ground with his knees pressed tightly against his chest. As he walks closer Mac realizes he’s talking to someone, his voice softer than he remembers. 

“I’m sure Mr. Worm isn’t cheating on you, he just has a lot of female worm-friends,” Charlie reassures the ground, or, as Mac realizes when he takes another step forward, the worm he's holding firmly in his palm.

“Oh, I don’t think I like your tone Angelica,” Charlie continues, bringing up the worm close to his face so that he can make sure it can see the dissatisfaction on his face, “I  _ do _ know what it’s like to have friends, thank you very much. Mac is gonna come back and- it doesn't matter, don’t make it personal just because your husband is cheating on you.”

Mac can’t help smile at that because Charlie is just as insane as when he left him and God, has he missed it. 

“Charlie?” He says quietly, as to not startle the other boy too much.

Charlie almost falls on his ass but manages to reach out with his other hand, the one not holding the worm, and prevent himself from falling into the mud. He stands up and spins around, the worm almost flying out of his hand as he does so. The second he spots Mac, Charlie’s face becomes similar to when he sniffs glue, a mixture of surprise and bliss, but then the second is over and he looks away. 

“Mac.” He states, “Where is your new best friend?”

Mac, takes another step forward, closing in on Charlie like one closes in on a scared cat that might run away at any second. 

“Dude, I’ve been thinking about this whole thing with Will and you’re right,” Mac says, “I was just hanging out with him because I got pissed about what you said about my dad.”

“Oh, Mac,” Charlie sits down again in order to put Angelica the worm back on the ground, “I didn't mean it to come out like that, you know words confuse me, they get all jumbled in my brain.”

“I know, dude.”

Charlie nods carefully and when he lifts up his head from the ground, spotting the undeniable smile that taken up Mac’s face, he lets himself relax, a small smile tugging at his own lips. 

“Friends?” Mac asks, already knowing the answer. 

“Best friends,” Charlie agrees. 

They hug, not because either of them has ever been much for hugs but because it feels right, like a handshake after having struck a deal. This is their deal, to be friends forever and never let anyone else come between them ever again. Mac inhales as Charlie’s body is pressed up against his own and the familiar smell of gasoline and Mrs. Kelly’s favorite soap feels like home. Charlie leans his head on Mac’s shoulder, his untamed locks of hair tickling Mac in the face. They stand like that for longer than they probably should but Mac doesn't even care, the two of them have been separated for far too long and damn it, Mac has missed the little weirdo. 

“So, um, what about Will?” Charlie asks when they’ve pulled away. 

“You won’t believe this,” Mac says, making Charlie’s eyes twinkle in curiosity just like he knew they would, “I ratted his ass out to the cops.”

~~~

A lot of things happens the year Mac and Charlie start high school. Mac befriends Will the drug dealer only to de-befriend him about two months later. People finally stop calling him the name Ronald McDonald, granted they replace it with “Ronnie the Rat” but Mac sees it as a partial victory. He starts to use gel in his hair, slicking it back every morning just like his dad used to do. Lastly, Mac becomes the new school drug dealer and gets his first customer the very next week after Will disappears to never be seen again. 

It's one of the guys who usually hangs out with the popular kids. Mac thinks they might have math class together but he wouldn't know on the account that he usually skips it in favor of getting high by the bleachers with Charlie. He’s got curly, chestnut hair that must have some expensive product in it because regular hair does not just naturally fall like that. His eyes are blue and something in his look is cold as he asks for “some marijuana, please”. Mac can barely speak as they make the transaction. His brain turns into a giant, fluffy cloud and his heart beats so hard against his chest he feels like he might throw up as his fingers touch the other boy’s skin when handing over the weed. His mouth has gone dryer than sandpaper and yet, just as the other boy is about to leave he manages to croak out an “I’m Mac by the way.”

The boy turns around again, his cold, blue eyes critically studying every centimeter of his frame. Mac suddenly feels like he's wearing too much and too little at the same time, like it's all just wrong. Maybe he should have sprayed himself in his dad cologne even though it smells like cats piss and chlamydia spit. Maybe he shouldn't have worn the shirt with the hole in the back. Maybe he should have gelled his hair up more, or maybe he shouldn't have gelled it up at all. 

But when Mac starts to think that the blue-eyed boy might leave with his weed in silence he finally answers, 

“I’m Dennis.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I wrote this but #WillDidNotDeserveThis #WillDidNothingWrong #WillShouldHaveGottenAJobInMarketing !!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I finally get to write about my fave asshole, Dennis Reynolds :') I hate him so much <333

“The other boys at school

Think it's cool to hate your parents

But they're lying all the time

The bugs advised that I should let 'em.”

**Mac, 16 years old.**

Dennis turns out not being as scary as Mac initially believed. He definitely has his moments, talking about how he rules the mountaintop and is “the golden God holding the magnifying glass up to the rest of the ants at school.” But for some reason, Mac doesn't think he and Charlie are ants to Dennis. It might be the weed, but Mac has noticed how Dennis always seem to relax in their company, like he can finally stop performing. Be a man rather than a God. 

“Why can’t you just tell us who it was,” Charlie complains. 

“Yeah,” Mac says, hoping the others are drunk enough to let the lack of enthusiasm in his voice slide, “this is the type of shit friends tell each other, dude.”

They're sitting in Dennis’s room on the fluffy, white carpet taking up at least half of the floor. The walls are filled with posters of hot girls Mac should probably know the names of and the windows facing the garden outside are big enough for a grown man to fit through. The fridge downstairs is always filled with beer and coke, and nobody's noticed either going missing every time Mac and Charlie visits. Actually, when Mac thinks about it, no one seems to be around much in the Reynolds mansion. Sure, Sweet Dee, Dennis’s twin sister, is always home but she typically hides in her room, probably making out with a poster of Jason Priestley or painting her nails. When she walks around in the empty corridors you can hear her scoliosis back brace from a miles away, giving the boys time to hide whatever is gonna get them in trouble. 

“I can’t tell you because I promised her I wouldn't,” Dennis explains, turning around to open another beer from the six-pack that they stole earlier from downstairs, “she made me swear on my life.”

Charlie rolls his eyes, flinching slightly at the popping sound of Dennis opening the beer, “okay, but like, was it someone from class?”

Mac lets his fingers get tangled in Dennis’s carpet and he silently wonders if the ache in his stomach is because he's not really used to drinking yet. Maybe the beer has gone bad, can beer even go bad? 

“It’s not someone from class,” Dennis admits, “She was… older.”

“Wait, like  _ how _ old?” Mac asks, and if it sounds like an accusation it's only because he drank some bad beer. 

“I-” Dennis hesitates, making that spitting “tsstk” sound with his mouth that he always does when Mac asks questions about the wrong things, “the specifics don't matter dude, what matters is I banged her, okay!”

Mac and Charlie both throw up their hands in a gesture of submission and Dennis clears his throat, taking another sip of the beer. 

“You guys wouldn't understand,” he looks out the window dreamingly like he didn't just lash out ten seconds ago, “when you lose your virginity, that's a sacred, unbreakable bond.”

“What do mean, 'you guys wouldn't understand'!? I’ve had tons of sex, I’ve had all the sex!” Mac yells out in protest.

He tries to stand up but finds a pair of strong hands over his chest, pushing him gently down again. 

“It’s okay Mac,” Dennis reassures him, patting him once over the chest before letting go and sitting down beside him, letting his arm drape over Mac’s shoulders. The gesture makes Mac's stomach upset again and his heart does that stupid thing where it dances salsa against his ribcage. 

“Most people don’t have sex for the first time at fifteen, you can’t compare yourself to my talents in the sexual department,” Dennis says, drawing out the word sexual as he leans into Mac, “It’s totally normal to still be a virgin, there’s nothing to be ashamed of Mac.”

“Yeah,” Charlie agrees from what feels like miles away, “I don’t even wanna have sex, dude.”

“That’s not normal though,” Dennis remarks, looking over at Charlie like he can’t decide if this is an argument he has the energy for, “But either way, no one has to get upset.” 

He looks at Mac again and there is a softness in the blue of his eyes that makes Mac hold his breath. 

“Everything will be fine,” Dennis promises.

~~~

And everything  _ is _ fine, for a while at least. His mom keeps smoking her cigarettes in silence but when Mac gets home there’s usually food on the table so he doesn't complain. Dennis has convinced the rest of the cool kids to buy their weed from Mac so business is booming. Charlie and Dennis are not only getting along but they seem to actually enjoy each other's company. Sure, Mac is the glue that's holding them together, but it's nothing like when he hung out with Will back in the day. He doesn't have to choose between his best friend and whatever Dennis is, he can have it all. 

He and Charlie shoplift a giant parka from the secondhand store that they spend the lunch breaks huddled together under in order to prevent them from getting hypothermia. They usually sit under the bleacher and sometimes, when Dennis joins them, they share a joint and complain about the weather. 

“So, wait-” Charlie says, interrupting Dennis mid-sentence, “You’re saying you don't get any gifts? But I thought you were rich.”

Dennis sighs, giving Mac a light shove, wanting him to pass the joint over. Mac does so, but only after taking another hit himself. 

“I  _ am _ , and as I already said, he  _ does _ buy gifts, he just buys them for himself instead of giving them to us. He said it was to teach us about life or something but it’s total bullshit.”

“So-” Mac says slowly, trying to make sense of it all, “you’re saying he’s bad at giving gifts?”

“Ahhh,” Charlie says in realization while Dennis profusely protests, “No, no, how are you not getting this?! He buys the perfect gifts he just- you know what, it doesn't matter anyway.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, takes a hit and blows out the smoke, leaning back his head towards the white sky. Mac thinks he’s so beautiful when he does that, his jaw flexing and unflexing and his lips parted as the smoke comes out. It's kind of unfair, no one should look so beautiful while working their way up to lung cancer. 

“I have a plan,” Charlie says, his body shuttering beside Mac’s, probably from the cold, “what if we go into your dad’s room and steal his money, then you don’t have to be sad when he gives you all those crappy gifts.”

“Oh my God, Charlie, I already told he doesn't give us  _ crappy _ gifts, he doesn't give us any gifts at all, it really isn't that hard to… wait-” Dennis interrupts his own mental breakdown, taking in Charlie’s words as he takes a last inhale of the blunt, “that’s not bad actually.”

“Really?”

Dennis nods, dropping the blunt to the ground and stomping it out, “yeah, we could have a sleepover or something where you guys look through my dad’s stuff, and then we’ll split what we find.”

“Hang on,” Mac says, “why do we have to look through your dad’s stuff, can’t you just do it?”

“No, you see, if we get caught, it's better if you guys take the fall,” Dennis argues, his voice so sweet that Mac can’t keep up with what he's really saying, “you two are poor so no one can really blame you for just… seeing an opportunity and taking it.”

“That… makes sense, I think.” Charlie says and Mac can't do else but agree because he wasn't really listening to that last part. 

So it's decided, they're having a sleepover. 

  
  


~~~

“Does my hair look fine?”

Charlie stops in his tracks, studying Mac’s delicately placed strands of hair. 

“Did you use gel?” He asks, eyebrows tightly knitted together. 

“No, why? Does it look like I did?” Mac panics. 

He’s spent at least an hour looking at himself in the mirror, getting the hair to fall just right. This is the first sleepover he’s been invited to that isn’t with Charlie or one of his cousins, he has to make a good impression. He’s wearing a blue t-shirt that Ann once said she liked right before attacking his mouth with her saliva and sticky tongue. He figures Dennis will like it as well even if it’s not gonna prompt him to react quite like Ann. 

“No, don’t worry,” Charlie says, “it looks good.”

They continued walking, the snow making a crunching sound under their feet and the cold air biting their skin. 

“Why are you stressing about this anyway, it’s just Dennis,” 

The question is innocent, not an accusation, not an interrogation, yet the words feel like tiny forks carefully poking at his sides, making him feel uneasy. 

“I’m not,” he shrugs.

Dennis greets them by the door wearing a black polo sweater and jeans. Mac thinks it makes him look like one of those models in the Vogue magazines, the ones pretending to read and play chess while being photographed in clothes the same price as his mom’s car. 

“Come on,” Dennis ushers them inside, “my dad just went out so you guys need to hurry before he gets back.”

Mac and Charlie walk in, the carpet by the door getting wet from the snow stuck under their shoes. 

“Uh, yes,” Mac confirms with fake confidence, “hurry with…”

Dennis stares at him like he might kill him a little bit, “hurry with the money that you and Charlie are gonna steal from his room, _please_ tell me you were listening.”

“Dude,” Mac huffs, rolling his eyes like Dennis is an utter fool for doubting him, “of course I was listening, I was just testing you.”

“Oh. Well, good.”   
  


Charlie places his sneakers beside Mac’s boots, taking his soaking wet socks off in the process. 

“Full disclosure,” he says, picking up the socks and twisting them in his hands to get the water out, “I wasn't listening.”

Dennis sighs but he doesn't look angry, “that's alright Charlie,” he says, “Mac is the team-leader on this one, you just have to follow his lead.”

“I’m the leader?” 

Mac feels his face going warm with pride. Of course  _ he _ knows he's the leader but it feels nice to hear someone else say it. It feels nice to hear Dennis say it. 

“Of course you are, buddy. I trust you.”   
  


~~~

Mr. Reynold's bedroom is the craziest thing Mac has ever seen. He feels like he’s just walked into a museum, the room a work of art and the bed the centerpiece. It's stacked with at least twenty decorative pillows upon a gold-colored duvet. Above the bed is a gigantic mirror and as cool as it is Mac can’t understand why anyone would want to fall asleep having their evil twin looking down at them. 

“Okay,” Mac says, trying to stay on task. He’s the leader. Dennis trusts him. Focus,  _ focus _ . 

“You take the left drawer and I take the right one.”

Charlie nods and runs along to the other side of the bed, almost knocking over a pillow in the process. 

“Careful,” Mac warns, “we have to leave everything exactly as we found it.”

He walks up to the right drawer, opening it slowly. Inside is a collection of oddities; a broken alarm clock, a book about Vietnamese street food, a small bottle of lube and a stack of business cards titled “ReyHam Properties, Frank Reynolds”. Mac has to clench his hands in order to prevent them from running through his hair and ruining it. 

“Please tell me you found something, Charlie,” he says, pushing the drawer shut with his closed fist. 

“Oh I found something alright,” Charlie grins, licking his lips as he looks down in the drawer, “this is a freakin’ gold mine; pills, booze, and this...”

“Charlie we need to focus on-”

Mac shuts his mouth when Charlie lifts up a book titled “Recipe for Temptation”, the cover depicting a shirtless, muscular man in a white apron, his skin glistening in the sunlight as he cuts some apples. 

“Bam!” Charlie exclaims excitedly, “I think It’s like a workout-book or something, look at those pecs.”

Mac does not have to be told twice, his eyes already mesmerized by the muscle composition of this guy. It’s truly impressive and Mac imagines it must have taken a lot of sweaty hours at the gym to get the physique just right. 

“While those pecs are certainly…” Mac looks down at the pecs; beautiful and sexy, “above average- that is not what we are here for, did you find any money?”

“Money?” Charlie puts back the book in the drawer, instead taking out a stack of tightly rolled fifties bills, “you mean like this?”

Mac can't do anything but stare, he's pretty sure he’s never seen that much money in one place before. 

“Charlie,” he whispers, taking the money from Charlie's grip just to make sure they're real, “holy shit.”

“Holy shit is right.”

Charlie and Mac spin around simultaneously to face the foreign voice that has, without a doubt caught them in the act. By the doorframe stands the shadow of a lanky woman, her arms crossed and her demeanor terrifying, like a killer bird watching its helpless prey. 

“Mrs. Reynolds, it’s not at all what it looks like,” Mac stutters, “we were just being poor, you wouldn't understand, of course, you’re rich and successful, but you see, when you’re poor you need to take every opportunity life throws at you.”   
  


The shadow-woman sighs and takes a step inside the room, the light illuminating her face, revealing a blonde mane of hair and piercing blue eyes. 

“Sweet Dee?” Charlie narrows his eyes, “I didn’t recognize you without the-”

“I only have to wear it twelve hours a day, okay, it’s not a big deal,” she snaps.

“Really? I thought that thing was like permanently attached to you, like a part of your skeleton.”   
  


Dee rubs at her eyes, maybe in an attempt to wake herself up from this nightmare, maybe because she has eye-problems too. Mac isn't sure he cares either way because she is totally messing with their plan. 

“What are you dick-holes doing with my mom’s money?” She demands and Charlie instantly takes the stack of money behind his back, trying to walk backwards in order to discreetly put it back in the drawer. The only problem is, as he does so, not only does he crash into the drawer, making a loud banging sound, but he also manages to drop the money on the floor instead of inside the drawer. 

“We were just… ” Mac is desperately grasping at something,  _ anything _ to get the two of them out of this situation. He can hear echoes of Dennis’s voice blending together with his fathers; _ I trust you, you are the leader, you need to step up.  _ He needs to focus but he doesn't know how, especially when Dee is looking at him like she's one second away from eating him up. She's almost scarier without the back brace because it means she has no physical disadvantage if he tries to make a run for it. 

“Oh my God, you guys are pathetic,” she sighs, “give me half and I won’t tell anyone.”

“Done!” Charlie exclaims, getting the money from the floor and hastily giving it over to Dee before Mac even has time to think over the proposal. Dee smiles wickedly and starts flipping over the bills, one by one. 

“one hundred, one hundred and fifty, two hundred,” she counts to herself, “aaaaand, looks like I’ll be walking away five hundred dollars richer, ain’t that nice?” 

She flips her hair over her bony shoulder and for a second Mac almost forgets that she's not one of the cool kids. She could play the role of mean girl pretty well, too bad about that Scoliosis… 

“See ya later, boners.”

She throws the rest of the money to the floor, undoubtedly gleeful in the knowledge that it will force Mac and Charlie to get on the ground and clean it up. Then she disappears into the shadows again, just as quick as she once emerged, leaving Mac and Charlie in a tense silence. 

~~~

Dennis has prepared popcorn when they get back to his bedroom and the smell makes Mac's mouth water. He's technically not had dinner yet if you don't count the fist full of lucky charms he stuffed in his mouth before leaving home.

"So, you guys came back in one piece," Dennis says when he hears them walking in, "you got the money, right?"

Mac lets the stack of money in his hand answer for him, fanning it in front of his face like he's a rapper in some tacky music video.

"Awesome!" Dennis smiles walking up to the two of them, his arm slung over Mac’s shoulders like it always belonged there, "so how much money are we talking about here?"

"According to my calculations, we could probably buy an island," Charlie says, and if he had glasses this would be the point where he’d push them to the brim of his nose for emphasis.

"And according to  _ my _ calculations," Mac clarifies as Dennis gives Charlie’s estimation a doubtful look, "Its five hundred dollars so… like two hundred dollars each?"

"I don't think that's right…" Dennis says, "also, I'll be taking half of it since it's  _ my _ dad we're stealing from." 

Dennis leans into Mac, making the air go strangely heavy and snatches the stack of money from Mac's hand.

"Let's see here," he says, counting the money in a way that almost makes Mac believe he  _ is _ related to the Aluminum Monster, "two hundred and fifty for me, and you two can split the rest."

Mac prepares himself to argue this arrangement because there is no way that its fair that he and Charlie had to do all the dirty work and Dennis still gets a majority of the money. But Dennis smiles towards him in that way that makes his mind go blank with words. It's kind of like his brain can't do two things at the same time; talk and look at Dennis.

"You guys did a great job," Dennis says but he's looking directly at Mac and it makes his heart beat hard, and loud, and  _ wrong _ .

~~~

Charlie falls asleep on the floor an hour later, mumbling something about not having slept much the previous night. Mac suspects it has something to do with Charlie's uncle Jack being back in town, sleeping in their guest room. Mac's never liked the guy, not that he's ever met him, but Charlie can't fall asleep when he comes to visit and a sleepy Charlie is even weirder and more unfocused than usual. 

"Well, that was easy," Dennis mumbles to himself, poking Charlie in the side to make sure he's actually asleep.

"What was?"

"Huh?" Dennis looks up again, smiling innocently, "nothing, I just wanted to show you something alone."

Mac’s mouth goes dry and he must look stupid because Dennis lets out a laugh.

"It’s nothing bad, I promise.”

Dennis takes a hold of his wrist and Mac can’t find any reason to protest as he’s lead out the room, through the corridor and down a screeching staircase. The basement is dark when they enter but Dennis soon finds the light switch, dowsing the room in a dim light, a strange contrast to the rest of the mansion’s bright chandelier lighting. The room is quite small, a black couch positioned in front of the TV on one side, and a wall filled with bookshelves on the other. 

“My dad usually spends poker nights down here, that's why it smells like smoke,” Dennis explains. 

Mac notices a little table which indeed is the perfect size for intense poker playing and wonders if Dennis would agree to the three of them playing UNO on it. He thinks about asking him before he forgets about it but Dennis is already across the room, intently inspecting the different titles in the bookcase.

“Sit down on the couch,” he instructs as he picks out a book and sticks his hand into the empty space it creates. 

Mac slumps down on the couch, patiently waiting for whatever trouble Dennis is gonna get them into now. Maybe he’s been hiding some new drug he wants to try out with Mac. Maybe it’s LSD, Mac’s heard stories about people going crazy taking it, jumping off balconies because they were being followed by invisible monsters. 

“Alright,” Dennis says, walking up to the TV and putting in a VHS tape, “you’re gonna like this,” he promises. 

Mac narrows his eyes, “we’re watching a movie?”

He hears the low humming of the tape settling into the machine and Dennis just smirks at him as he jumps into the cough to sit beside Mac. 

“You’ll see.”

There isn’t much to observe at first but then the screen lights up, revealing a pale woman with dark, wavy hair, sitting alone on a bed with cherry red, silk duvets. She’s wearing white lingerie, the type that's practically see through, and the color creates quite the aesthetical effect against the black hair and dramatic red. Someone off-screen says something illegible and the woman looks up, bringing up her hand to slowly stroke her own collarbone with her slim fingers. Mac figures it’s supposed to be seductive. Then there’s a butt suddenly taking up half the screen, like, just a straight-up ass staring into Mac’s soul. The butt moves and is revealed to belong to a man, a very naked and manly, man-man. Mac feels his throat tighten as he watches him walk over to the bed, firmly pushing the woman down to the mattress and positioning himself over her. She giggles and whispers, “what are you gonna do to me, daddy?” and that is where Mac has to draw a line. He launches forward, snatching the remote from the sofa table and promptly turns off the video. 

“Hey!” Dennis protests, “what the hell man, it was just getting good!”

“No, no, no, that was not good, _ not good _ !” Mac rambles, hiding the remote behind his back when Dennis desperately reaches for it, “don’t you have any respect for the lord, dude?”

“The- Oh my God-”

“ _ Yes _ , God,” Mac confirms, “pornography is totally a sin and I can not go to hell just because  _ you _ wanted to watch some dude plow ass.”

“Where-” Dennis shrieks, his face turning angry red, “show me, Mac, show me where it says in the Bible that porn, specifically, is a sin.”   
  


“Uh,” Mac thinks for a while. He hasn't read the Bible cover to cover but he’s sure he remembers someone, either his grandma or his priest, telling him that porn was the devil’s work. 

“I think it might be in the section about sexual deviancy and stuff,” Mac decides but Dennis just groans in response, once again reaching for the remote behind Mac’s back. 

“This is ridiculous, give me the remote,” he demands but Mac just leans back in the couch, using his arm to block Dennis from coming any closer. 

“I’m not letting you go to hell, I can’t have that on my conscious,” Mac responds and it’s true because he knows that even if Dennis does watch the porno he's not going to go to church the next morning to get his sins forgiven. He’ll just pile on more and more sin until he bursts and when he does, it’s all gonna be Mac’s fault for not stopping him while he had the chance to.

“I was trying to do you a favor,” Dennis bites, trying to slap Mac’s arm away from him, “so that when you actually get a girl to sleep with you, you’ll know what to do.”

“I don’t need your sex tips, Dennis,” Mac protests wildly, “I can manage on my own, so lay off.”

But Dennis doesn't lay off, in fact, he does the very opposite of laying off. He jumps forward, pushing his entire body weight on top of Mac as he struggles to steal back the remote. And Mac can't do anything rational in return because the air in the room has gotten so thick he can’t breathe. Instead, he turns to his instincts, getting into fight-mode and pushing his own body against Dennis’s. There are suddenly hands running along his sides, looking for the damn remote and he feels damp air on his skin, Dennis struggling, perhaps as much as him but surely not for the same reasons, to catch his breath. Dennis’s hands finally find what they're looking for but when his arm rips out the remote from under Mac’s back, Mac involuntarily jerks up, pushing his hips and chest up against the other boy, the friction sending a rush through his entire body. 

“Dude,” Dennis stills on top of him, the remote in his hand painfully pressed up against Mac’s shoulder, “why do you have a boner?”

“I don’t,” Mac breathes heavily, but the words don’t come out with much conviction. Dennis is staring right at him and it's hard to lie when someone is looking at you like they can see right through you. Like they can see beyond the person everyone else thinks you are, the person you have convinced yourself to be. 

“You clearly do,” Dennis simply says, like the words aren't sending Mac to the grave after dying from pure embarrassment.

He sighs, gets himself off Mac and sits back down in his designated corner. It feels a little lighter without the two of them pressed up against one another, so close, too close, yet, a sinful part of Mac misses it, wishes they could be even closer. 

“Don’t look so scandalized,” Dennis rolls his eyes, “It’s not exactly rocket science that porn would give you a hard-on.”

Mac finches. 

“It’s okay,” Dennis continues, “we’ll watch the movie, jerk off a little bit, and that will be that.”

Mac double flinches. 

“That-” he feels his mouth going dry again, making it almost sound like he's on the verge of tears, “that will be that?”

“Yeah,” Dennis shrugs and when Mac doesn't bother to answer he puts the porno back on, the sounds of humping and moaning drowning out Mac’s own deafening heartbeat. 

They watch the movie, Dennis’s eyes going dark as he studies the couple rocking back and forth on the bed, hands clasping at the bedsheet, mouths half-open in broken cries. And Mac listens to the two of them fucking, the girl making whimpering sounds every time the man thrusts into her, while secretly taking in the look of Dennis. His ears are a shade of pink Mac’s never seen him in before and his breathing is painfully dragged out. And Mac knows he shouldn't look, knows it makes it worse, and yet he can't stop himself. Not when Dennis’s jeans tighten and his hand palms the outline of his dick. Not when he lets out a quiet moan stroking himself through the fabric and not even when Dennis looks up, staring Mac stone cold in the eyes as he quickens the pace. 

That night Mac learns two things. One; Dennis has a really weird cum-face. It looks like someone dying from poisoning and Mac really wonders how anyone’s had sex with him without laughing. Two; Mac learns that when it comes to Dennis he’ll probably do just about anything. It doesn't matter if he goes to hell or embarrasses himself to death. Something in Mac’s brain is simply programmed to throw the limited amount of reason it has out the window as soon as Dennis enters the room and that’s just how it is. Mac knows, if he was strong, he’d get as far away as soon as possible, but he's not. He's weak and pathetic and he can't do a goddamn thing about it because he’d rather be all of those things combined if it meant staying with Dennis. It's going to ruin him, Mac is sure of it, and he’ll let it, time and time again. 

~~~

**“** Dude, where have you been,” Charlie scolds as Mac runs towards him, making sure to jump over the train tracks so as to not fry his feet, “you’ve missed like two trains going by, I had to throw rocks at them all by myself.”

“Sorry,” Mac huffs, trying to catch his breath as he finds his way beside Charlie, “but you’re totally gonna forgive me when you see what I got you”

“Oh!” Charlie exclaims excitedly and Mac thinks he looks eight years old again, all puppy eyes and stupid grins, “is it present time? Already?” 

Mac shrugs, “whenever you’re ready dude, I got mine with me, you got yours?”

Charlie nods, putting his hand inside the giant pocket of the parka (Charlie gets to take it home after school because the room temperature in his house is shit) and reveals a little white box with a ribbon made out of a shoelace. There’s also a note attached to it, stuck under the ribbon and folded in two. 

“You should open yours first.”

“No, dude, I’ve already made you wait-”

The two of them does this little awkward dance, Charlie trying to press the box into Mac's hands while Mac reaches for Charlies present gently tucked in the back pocket of his jeans. It's the first time they’ve done this whole present-thing and it shows. Usually, when they give each other things they don't pay for them and they're certainly not wrapped in gift paper. All previous years the two of them has made a tradition of getting away from Christmas and all the things it entails. No disappointing presents, no Santa clauses, just the two of them throwing rocks at trains. But this year, one hundred and twenty-five dollars richer, they decided to actually get each other something. 

“Just-” Mac groans, snatching his gift out of Charlie's hand and replacing it with Charlie's gift, “Let's just open them at the same time and get it over with.”

“Yeah, alright,” Charlie mumbles staring down at the shiny blue wrapping paper in his hands, “just, be careful with it.”

Mac huffs in response, putting the note in his pocket to read for later and opening up the box, letting the old shoelace fall to the ground. Inside there is one of those tacky magnets that you find in tourist shops and put on your freezer when you get home from vacation. The magnet is decorated with the liberty bell and the U.S. flag and the text reads “Someone who loves me went to Philadelphia and got me this Magnet.” The ‘o’ in ‘loves’ is a red heart and its possibly the cheesiest thing Mac has ever seen and he can't help but love it. He looks up at Charlie, but the words ‘thank you’ die out as he sees his friend’s face. The blue wrapper is sticking up from the pocket of the parka and Charlie is holding the book in his hands like he has no idea what to do with it. Like he's deciding whether to give it back to Mac or throw it at the next train. 

“What's wrong,” Mac asks even though he should know better. That question has never been answered in a way that makes anyone better off. 

“I just,” Charlie hesitates, still looking at the book in his hands, “you know I can't- I’m not good with words.”   
  


“No! Dude-” Mac puts away his own gift and helps Charlie open the first page of the book, revealing a brightly colored drawing of a boy sleeping in a boat surrounded by a blue infinity of water “It’s not a word-book, it's a picture book.”

“I’m not eight anymore, Mac,” Charlie protests but Mac can see his eyes instantly transfixed, following the motion of Mac turning the pages. The boat finds a land of green grass and the boy wakes up from the sudden motion. 

“It’s not for kids Charlie, I wouldn’t belittle you like that,” Mac reassures, “It’s just a different way to tell a story. It's actually more mature because it like, eh, transcends words.”

“Uh, well, you’re right, I’m not little and I’m not a bee,” Charlie agrees, “and I do like it when things trans-dents words.”

Mac nods and pats Charlie on the back, letting him keep turning the pages to unravel more of the story. Mac doesn't bother to look, he already read the whole thing in the bookstore before buying it. He knows that the boy is going to exit the boat and start to explore the new mystery land that he’s found himself in. He’ll find friends with weird purple hair and fluffy tails and they’ll spend the days looking for treasures by the beach and hide from the witches in the forest. It's colorful, and weird, and probably filled with metaphors that only Charlie will understand. 

They stay a while and throw rocks at trains but it's cold outside and only one of them can wear the parka at a time, besides, Mac can tell Charlie is itching to sit down and continue reading his new book. This might actually be the only book Charlie has a chance of getting through without throwing a temper tantrum or giving up and it makes him strangely proud of himself to have made Charlie excited about something he usually hates. 

When Mac returns home, he thinks about Charlie slumped down in his sofa, the smell of his mom's gingerbread cooking filling the house as he imagines himself to be the boy in the boat, so far from the world he knows. Mac wonders if he’d bring Mac with him would he ever run away on a boat, but then he realizes how stupid that is. They're best friends, of course he’d bring Mac along, besides, Charlie wouldn't make it one day in a mystery land without Mac protecting him. Running away from home would have been pretty appealing a couple of years ago, Mac thinks, but now there's so much he can't leave behind. Dennis casually wrapping his arm across Mac’s shoulders. Dennis and that way he looks at Mac, making him forget how to talk. Dennis and their secret, unholy, definitely-going-to-hell, jerking off sleepovers. 

Mac sighs as he jumps in bed, the sound of rustling paper startling him as he lands on the mattress. Right, he remembers, the note from Charlie, this ought to be interesting. He fishes the paper out of his back pockets and unfolds it. 

It's more of a drawing than a note, a cat with giant eyes and a heart-shaped nose and a dog with angry eyebrows talking to each other. The cat is telling the dog, the text trapped in one of those comic-book bubbles, “Me-Cat I think OK”. Then there is a cross, three question marks, and a sad face. The dog answers, “Not know. Safe.” 

Mac stares at it until he thinks his eyes might dry out. He has no idea what it means and he can decide if he feels terrified or reassured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I was one second away from trying to find some early 90's porn in order to bring some more realism into the fic, but I couldn't do it, sorry guys but you're just gonna have to settle for tacky but weirdly aesthetical porn that I headcannoned that Frank would buy and Dennis would find. The book "Recipe for Temptation" is real tho so ya'll gotta give me at least some points for that!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So.... a lot of shit happens in this chapter. I'm sorry in advance. 
> 
> Also! This chapter includes references to self-harm so be careful if you are sensitive to that <33

_ “And if you wanna cry _

_ Make sure that they never see it _

_ Or even better yet _

_ Block it out and never feel it.” _

**Mac, 17 years old.**

  
  


Junior year doesn't just fly by, it skyrockets in the speed of light. Days blur together in a smoke-cloud of weed and Mac can’t remember a single thing he’s learned in the past year. His voice has turned form girly-high, to shrieky, to deep and unfamiliar. He wears deodorant that smells like the locker room showers and he's begun a habit of cutting off the sleeves off his t-shirts in order to show off his muscles (muscles in progress). The title as ‘the man of the house’ finally feels like it belongs to him. 

They're all growing up. Charlie still wears the same clothes from when Mac first met him, shorts paired with stretched out t-shirts, but he's changed too, Mac can tell. He has an almost-beard thing going on, a forest of uncontrollable little hairs on his shin that he refuses to shave no matter how many times Dennis tries to trick him. Dennis also looks older, having grown into his lanky frame properly and his curly hair straightening out. 

The two of them have been watching porn together again, well, they never really stopped, but it's been different lately. Weird-different. It didn't take long for Mac to join in on the ‘jerking off’ aspect of the porn watching, and as sinful as it is, as much as he hates himself the next day in church, he still thinks its the best thing in the world; looking into Dennis’s blown out eyes as he feels himself working up to an orgasm. It feels special, Dennis choosing him out of everyone else on the earth to witness this secret part of him. His hair; a mess, his breathing; uncontrolled. He’s nothing like the Dennis who hangs out with the popular kids and he's nothing like the Dennis that gets high with Mac and Charlie. Maybe he's just  _ Dennis _ and the thought scares Mac just as much as it excites him. For the record, it's not gay, not  _ really _ , because as Dennis explained to him very rationally, they’re both straight men which makes the whole thing automatically straight. Only a gay dude would have any problem jerking it off with his buddy once in a while. If you think about it, It's just like any other type of male-bonding. Totally normal. Or it used to be at least. Lately, every time they step into that basement, it feels like they're getting closer to a line neither of them can cross. It's a line that Mac doesn't want to think about, but feels the presence of all the same. It's a line that makes itself known when Dennis leans in too close, when Mac catches himself tuning out the sound of the porn in favor of listening to the hitched breaths, the suppressed moaning, beside him. It's a line that threatens to ruin everything. 

It's not like Mac things he'll develop feelings for Dennis because as previously stated, he's not gay, not even close. Besides, Mac doesn't think he’ll ever feel differently about Dennis than he already does, and he's sure that whatever he felt for Ann or any of the other girls at school won't ever be on the same level as what he feels for Dennis. Girl-crush-feelings are a mile away from his Dennis-feelings. They’re friends, not like him and Charlie are friends, but  _ friend _ friends. While Charlie is his best friend, the two of them against the world forever, Dennis is his special-bond, blood-rushing through his veins so quick he gets scared- friend. Blood brothers, that's the only word for it. Connected by something beyond words, beyond all that bullshit surface stuff that most other relationships are so reliant on. They know each other in and out. At least Mac likes to think he knows Dennis. With Charlie, Mac learned everything through time and experience but with Dennis Mac has just kind of made sure to pay attention. Every little microexpression has a meaning and every word he utters has at least ten words stuck between the lines. But Dennis is hard to understand sometimes, not in the way Charlie is hard to understand, his mind simply imported from another universe, but hard to understand in the way he ticks. Dennis will be like a still lake one moment, quiet and calm but the next, without explanation he’ll turn into an angry whirlpool, set out to suck everyone into his mess only to, one second later, push them away again. And Mac lets himself get sucked in every single time, because it's  _ Dennis _ , what other choice does he have?

“Can I come in?” 

“Um,” Mac hesitates, “just a second, bro.”

He tries to push the arms of his white shirt up to his shoulders but they keep falling down. One would think that expensive brands in stores with high tech security cameras would look better, but it's actually just the same shit you'd find in any other place.

"I'm coming in," Dennis warns, pushing the curtain aside and stepping into the dressing room.

"They’re rolling down, I don’t get what I’m doing wrong," Mac complains trying to readjust the right arm of the shirt while the left falls down again.

Dennis tries to slap Mac's hand away, but he doesn't do a very good job of it, there being no real energy or rage in the motion. 

"Mac, you are such white trash," he mumbles and does his best unfolding the fabric, letting it naturally fall over Mac’s arms. He makes sure every crevice is smoothed out and his slim fingers send little sharp shots of electricity over Mac’s skin.

"Why would you roll the sleeves up? That doesn't make any sense," Dennis ponders but for once he doesn't seem irritated, just genuinely confused. 

"It's a part of my brand," Mac argues and Dennis rolls his eyes, letting go of Mac’s arms and taking a small step back to view the improvement. 

"What brand, being poor?" He mocks, "you can do better Mac, I mean this is-" 

He runs his hands along Mac's arms one last time, the motion making any protests or angry remark die out on Mac’s end. 

"You look good like this," Dennis says, his eyes carefully studying him, from his arms, to his black, uncomfortable yet expensive pants, to his hair. Its gelled up like usual, like his dad always insists on, but a strand has fallen out of place somewhere along the way. It probably got messed up from trying on all the different outfits that be doesn't want, for a prom he isn't planning to attend. 

"If you just wore more of this stuff," he pats Mac on the shoulder, lets his hand stay there, "the chicks would be all over you, man, I'm sure of it."

This is one of those moments again. The air grows thick and the spot where Dennis’s hand connects to Mac’s shoulder is set on fire, making his entire body burn. The line isn't crossed yet but Mac really fucking wants it to be. He can't put words to it, but he's sure Dennis could if he asked him to. Dennis with the perfect vocabulary, Dennis with the blue, critical eyes that only go soft for Mac. Dennis with his arm always finding its way around his shoulders. Dennis who's finally looking at him, not just the outfit, glancing down to his own hand, like he just noticed how long it's been holding on to Mac. And Mac doesn't know why, but his mouth opens slightly and Dennis can’t see to help but look down at it, studying it just like he studies everything else. Like he's assessing the use for it. Mac is suddenly struck with how quiet it is. He can hear every little motion, every intake of breath, every beating of his own heart. Someone should say something, but as it so often is when Dennis is around, the part of Mac’s brain in charge of speech has turned into a puddle. 

"Are you two in there?" 

The second before Charlie draws back the curtains and enters the already suffocating changing room, Dennis’s hand separates from Mac like the touch is charged with painful electricity. Like Mac is suddenly disease-ridden and Dennis doesn't want to catch whatever he's carrying. Like Mac is going to hell and Dennis is afraid to be sent with him by mere association. 

“You guys need to help me get out of this thing,” Charlie says helplessly, and at first Mac can’t see the problem, Charlie actually looks presentable in his white shirt, dark gray vest and pant combo, but then he notices the tie wrapped way too tight, practically choking the poor boy. 

“Jesus,” Mac mutters, his hands instantly on the knot, trying to work out how to save his friend from permanent brain damage.

“He’s fine,” Dennis protests. 

“I'm dying.”

“You’re not dying,” Dennis snarls back and Mac decides not to listen to either of them as he tries to loosen the tie bit by bit. 

“I don’t even get why we’re here, this is like a fancy people store and all the stuff has those alarm-thingies on them.”

“They are called tags,” Dennis corrects, “and you’re not stealing the clothes.”

“Are you kidding, dude,” Charlie crosses his arms, the motion making Mac lose all focus in his unknotting business and having to start over, “of course I’m stealing them, do you think I’m made of money?”

Dennis looks away and Mac can't tell if its guilt or irritation on his face. 

“Oh, yeah, Dennis,” Charlie mocks, using his made-up version of a posh accent, “I’ll just get my  _ money _ from my  _ wallet _ .”

Charlie pretends to look in his pockets for the wallet but comes up empty-handed, “How wretched, I must have forgotten it in my  _ gold-edition Lamborghini _ , I’ll have to get one of my  _ servants _ to fetch it for me,  _ ta-hah _ .”

The knot finally loosens up and Mac sighs, detaching the tie from Charlie's reddening neck.

“Well excuse me for not wanting the two of you to look like you live on the dump,” Dennis bites back and Mac is sure there's only irritation in his eyes now, “if you’re gonna be seen next to me, talking to me, even looking at me, I want you to look somewhat nice, is that too much to ask when you get to grace upon the golden God-”

“Hey, come on, Den,” Mac makes sure to use his soft voice when he takes a step back from Charlie and focuses all his attention on Dennis and preventing another I-am-the-golden-God spiral, “what Charlie is trying to say is they he loves the clothes, he just can't afford them, right Charlie?”

Charlie narrows his eyes but manages to get out a “right” without sounding too passive aggressive. 

“And I really like my clothes too, it's just like you said, the chicks are gonna be all over me,” he smiles and Dennis seems to think it over, his eyes darting back and forth until they finally land on Mac, his body unclenching as he breathes out, nodding in agreement. 

“They’re nice.”

“Right, right,” Mac agrees, his hands finding their way to Dennis's shoulders, rubbing small circles on his back, “it's just a shame that we can't afford them. I mean it would be great to stride in like this, everybody looking at us in these fancy clothes, looking at you, knowing that you’re the one responsible for glamming us up, makin’ us all pretty...”

He can’t see Dennis’s face anymore but he hears a hum of agreement, and he knows that Dennis is picturing it, picturing it all. The loud music, the pretty girls, the spiked punch. Himself in the middle as the three of them walk in, transformed from weed buddies wasting their time under the bleachers, to a proper gang worthy of everyone's adoration and envy. Mac likes to think he knows Dennis and in these moments he really believes that he does. He’s located all the buttons and knows exactly in what order to press them in for the desired outcome. Mac can play Dennis like an artist plays the violin, the only problem is he doesn't know what song to play, just the tunes that make up the different sounds. He knows how to make Dennis do what he wants, he just doesn't know  _ what _ he wants most of the time. 

“Maybe I could…” Dennis thinks out loud and Mac makes sure to linger in his touch, let his hands sink deeper into Dennis’s skin. Applying a little pressure, pushing some more buttons, finding the right tunes. 

“...Convince my mom to buy it, I could tell her I need money for a Spanish book or something. She has no concept of what things cost anyway, last week she gave me twenty bucks to buy some bananas.”

Charlie perks up from his quiet corner, “you mean we can keep these?”

Dennis smiles at him for the first time since he stormed in and interrupted whatever wasn't going to happen between him and Mac.

“They’re all yours, buddy”

  
  


~~~

  
  


One week later Charlie is doing his signature butt-dance in a couple of brand new pressed and fully paid for pants. It’s at least two hours until prom but he and Mac know there might not be many opportunities for the two of them to wear their clothes ever again, Might as well be making the most of it. 

“And then I’ll give her a little bit of this-” Charlie looks back at Mac over his shoulder, giving him a subtle pout, “is that sexy, does that work?”

Mac lets out a snicker and Charlie drops the look. 

“Come on, man, this could be our chance.”

Mac smiles softly, leans back down on his bed and looks up at the ceiling. There’s a crack that he looks at every night before going to bed, always has, ever since he was a kid. He used to be afraid of the crack growing and the wall collapsing upon him, but at some point he just got used to it. Maybe that's what it means to grow up or maybe he’s just learned to be scared of other things. 

“We always say that you know, but it never works out…”

“What do you mean?” Charlie wonders and Mac wishes that for once he wouldn't so naive.

He continues looking up at the ceiling, talking to the crack rather than to his friend, “I mean, we always say that this is gonna be the time we get popular or whatever, but we always just end up being losers.”

“We’re not losers, look at what we’re wearing, dude,” Charlie argues, doing a little spin and showing off his outfit, “we look good, I’m telling you, this is our night.”

Mac huffs, “whatever.”

He’s wearing his expensive black pants paired with a blue t-shirt that he fished out of the laundry basket. Dennis would probably scold him for disrespecting the pants in pairing them with dirty clothes but Mac doesn’t want to wrinkle the actual prom-shirt. He’s only had to iron once before in his life and it wasn't exactly his proudest moment. To his defense, nobody was there to tell him that clothes couldn't be ironed while wearing them and it  _ would _ have been really time effective if it’d worked. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

Charlie’s voice has changed, Mac can instantly tell. Nine years of friendship will do that and it's a blessing as much as it is a curse to have someone else know your every move, your every thought before you even know it yourself.

“Yeah, what’s up.”

And Charlie must hear how Mac’s voice changes too, the forced sense of normalcy in it to cover up the fear. 

“I just-” he hesitates, double-checking that all the shiny black buttons on his gray vest are properly closed, “I was just wondering why you didn't ask Ann out.”

Oh.  _ Oh _ . 

Charlie does that thing where he coughs in an attempt to make things less awkward, fill the silence. And when Mac doesn't answer he starts rambling.

“I mean, she's not a ten or whatever, but she's  _ pretty, _ and you know what they say, prom is basically an orgy, everyone havin’ sex left and right, seems like the perfect opportunity to lose that V-card, just sayin’.”

“She’s going with O’Brian,” Mac mumbles, still looking up at the ceiling, still avoiding Charlie's look. 

“Yeah, but that seemed like it was pretty last minute,” Charlie argues, his voice soft yet precise and unshaken. It means he's fishing for something, looking for answers without asking questions.

“It kinda seemed like she was waiting for you to ask her.”

“That’s bullcrap.” 

“It's not,” Charlie retorts, walking over to the bed and poking Mac in his belly so that he’ll move over and make room for Charlie to sit down. Mac sits up reluctantly and Charlie slumps down beside him. 

“I heard from Jessica, who talked to both Tiffany and Keisha, that allegedly, a little birdie told them that-”

“Just get to it!” Mac interrupts because even though he might not like where this is going he can't follow the train of gossip that flows through the school and it makes him frustrated. It's one of those peculiar things that Charlie is really good at; knowing what's going on, knowing when it's going on and whom it involves, and Mac cant make sense of it. 

“Ann totally has a crush on you, she's  _ had _ a crush on you since she wrote you that love letter in sixth grade.”

Mac sighs again. Why does it feel like they're already arguing?

“So what?”

Charlie’s eyes widen, “so what?” he repeats like it's the craziest thing Mac’s said all day, “ _ so,  _ she would have totally said yes if you asked her out, which is why I dont get why you didn’t-”

“Will you drop it.”

Charlie is so annoying when he gets like this. It's usually funny when he pretends to be a lawyer, putting on his mom’s reading glasses and making up words, but it's not funny when its Mac he's interrogating. Especially not when Mac doesn't have the answers he's looking for. 

“I feel like you're getting unusually defensive about this,” Charlie conspires, “and as your friend, I want to understand your perspective.”

Mac gets up from the bed despite knowing it probably makes him look even more defensive, and starts pacing the room. 

“Interesting,” Charlie mumbles to himself. 

“I’m not- come on Charlie,” Mac tries to defend himself, which, why does he have to defend himself again? 

“Why do I have to defend myself?” Mac asks out loud, “maybe I just don’t like Ann, what's the big deal?”

“The big  _ deal _ ,” Charlie says, making his hands into a pyramid, thumbs and index fingers pressed together, “is that you’re not telling me the truth, you're lying by omission, dude, and that's not cool.”

“That's not even-” Mac scoffs, “lying by- you don't even know what that means.”

“Eh, yes I do; It means that you’re withholding information,” Charlie argues and his voice has gone a little bit higher now, like he's struggling to keep it together. And he's not the only one, Mac feels like he's lost at least a hundred calories pacing the room back and forth. He also feels like he should open a window, the air is getting all stuffy and his t-shirt is getting sticky from his own sweat. 

“You talk a big game about losing your virginity, and boobs, and girls, but when an actual real-life girl wants to go out with you-”

“Charlie, don’t,” Mac warns but Charlie keeps on going, keeps on pushing. 

“Why can’t you just tell me,” he says and he actually sounds wounded, his voice turning soft again, “You can trust me, remember, I explained it all in that note I gave you.”

“The note you…?” Mac narrows his eyes, “You mean the cat and dog drawing you gave me for Christmas?!”

“Yeah,” Charlie confirms like it's supposed to be obvious, “It basically said that I was okay with patiently waiting for you to tell me about whatever was bothering you, but that was like a year ago, dude, I’m not  _ that _ patient.”

“That is absolutely not what it said.”

“Its a summary.”   
  


Mac sighs deeply, pinching the brim of his nose to calm down his growing frustration. In revolt to his better judgment, Charlie keeps on talking, 

“I never judged you, you know that, and it’s not like whatever you’re going through is any weirder than any of the shit I’ve done. I just don't understand why you can't tell me.”

“I’m not gay, so just stop asking,” Mac bites out but he can’t look at Charlie as he says it. He can’t, because he’ll know if he believes him or not and Mac can’t handle knowing his best friend thinks…  _ that _ of him. 

“Well,” Charlie coughs awkwardly, “if you  _ were _ , I wouldn't have a problem with it.”

“I’m not.”

“Well,” Charlie says again and Mac has to bite his lip in order to not yell out profanities, “you’re the one who brought up the subject unprompted, but alright.”

“Dude, what is wrong with you?” Mac does one of those half-laughs half-mental breakdown sounds, “since when do you talk like that?”

“Since our dear friend Dennis Reynolds lended me his dictionary,” Charlie says in a very matter of fact way, “speaking of Dennis-”

_ Shit _ .

“You two have been having a lot of  _ alone time _ ,” Charlie says and Mac is sure the pit stains on his t-shirt are fully visible now, “a lot of late nights in the basement when you think good ol’ Charlie boy is asleep, a lot of secret hangouts in the dark.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mac hisses but Charlie just smirks at him,  _ actually smirks _ , before standing up and giving him a pat on the back. Condescending little bastard. 

“You should take a shower,” he says, “you reek of sweat.”

  
  


~~~

  
  


Two hours of tense silence and passive aggressive comments later Charlie and Mac are ready for prom. Charlie actually looks really good in his outfit and the green tie totally brings out the color of his eyes, even if Mac would rather swallow a cactus whole than tell him that right now. Mac is not looking too bad himself, he triple-checked in the mirror before leaving to make sure of that. Even if a part of him is anxious about getting stains on the white shirt or accidentally opening the hems of the pants, he’s never felt more classy. 

Dennis comes out of the gymnasium right in time to greet them. He's wearing a sleek black suit paired with a silver tie that makes him look like a CEO. Not the boring kind, but the kind that fucks their assistants over the desk while looking out the window to admire the New York skyline. He’s stunning, there’s no other word for it, and at this revelation Mac instantly feels feverish again. Charlie's words, Charlie's  _ accusation _ , rings loud and clear in his ears. It feels like the devil has taken the form of an evil, slimy snake, creeping around under his skin, every twist reminding him of the sin that's ingrained in his soul. No matter how many times Mac prays, the snake won't die. Instead, it keeps on whispering sweet temptations in his ear, pointing him in the direction of golden apples that tastes like heaven but are made of sin.

“You guys missed it,” Dennis pants as he runs up to the two of them, “Dee was here and, I’m not kidding, she was wearing the back brace under her dress, it was a mess.”

“No way, bro,” Charlie says. 

The music inside sounds like something Mac would love to shake loose to but he's not really feeling it at the moment. Maybe it’ll be enough to watch Charlie break out his classical butt-dance moves because as upset as Mac might be with Charlie, he still can't deny that his butt-dance is awesome. 

“She came in and everybody started chanting ‘aluminum monster’ until she started crying and ran out again,” Dennis snickers. 

The door to the gymnasium opens again, letting out the sound of teenage chatter and pop music, and out walks Tiffany. She looks a little like Dee, skinny and blonde, but with the striking difference that she's actually attractive. She's wearing a white dress that's tight around her chest but fluffy and fun at the hip and her hairband is the exact same color as Dennis’s tie. 

“Dennis,” she says and Dennis instantly turns around, raising an eyebrow at the interruption, “you just kind of left, I thought we were gonna dance.”

“Tiffany,” Dennis smiles, stepping forward to grab her by the hips and softly pushing her inside again, “I’ll be back in a minute baby, don’t worry.”

Tiffany clearly looks like she wants to protest but the door closes in her face before she gets the chance to. 

“Jesus,” Dennis mumbles, running a hand through his hair, “she's been after me the whole night, I didn't know that going to the prom together meant getting goddamn married.”

“You-” Mac hesitates, he thinks he can feel the snake moving around under his skin again, suffocating his heart, but it might just be the typical prom jitters, “you didn't say you were bringing a date.”

“I didn't?” Dennis is looking at the door, his hand still up in his hair like he's posing for a hidden paparazzi or something, “I guess it goes without saying, what kind of loser doesn't have a prom date.”

  
  


~~~

  
  


Mac thought spiked punch would make him feel better but it's actually just making everything spectacularly worse. He's still pissed at Charlie, like  _ really _ pissed, and it doesn't matter how much he shakes his ass. He's also pissed at Dennis, even more so than Charlie. Which doesn't really make sense because technically Mac never asked if Dennis was bringing a date and technically it shouldn't even matter. 

He's placed himself in the corner of the hall, close enough to the punch table to avoid stumbling across the room to get a refill and close enough to the dancefloor to observe his friends without actually hanging out with them. Charlie is talking, probably gossiping, with some of the less popular girls, and Mac isn't at all surprised because prom is a breeding ground for rumors and scandals. Whatever Charlie finds out he’ll have to hear about in the morning and as much as he won't care, hell still listen. Dennis is visibly drunk and dancing in the middle of the room. A dance that mostly consists of weird hand motions towards the roof and stomping to the beat of the song. He's completely lost in the sound around him and Mac can’t help but be reminded of all those nights in the basement. Dennis is once again letting go of his own suffocating sense of control and its as beautiful as it is rare.

“He's such an asshole.”

Mac hasn't even registered Tiffany walking up beside him but he should have guessed it when the air suddenly started smelling like vanilla perfume and overpriced hairspray. 

“I know,” Mac agrees but he continues to watch Dennis, every obscure dance move registering on his lens and storing the movement to his brain in a little folder he likes to think of as ‘Dennis facts’. 

“I don’t even think he would notice if I left,” Tiffany complains but she sounds more defeated than angry, which is weird because Tiffany is known for being a total bitch. 

“He didn't even tell us that he had a date,” Mac mumbles and he hears Tiffany gasping scandalized in response. 

“Well that's just great, he forces me to find an outfit that goes with the colors of his goddamn tie and then he doesn't even-” she sighs and Mac can smell the sugary, vodka-induced punch on her breath.

“That’s Dennis for you,” Mac shrugs, taking another sip of punch, “pretends to give a shit about you one moment only to fuck you over the next.”

“Right.”

The two of them are quiet for a moment, both watching Dennis out on the dancefloor as the music slows down and his erratic moves turn relaxed and oddly sensual. He’s closed his eyes but he still manages to avoid bumping into anyone, like he's completely given himself up to the ecosystem of the dance floor. It's a sea of hormones trapped in teenage bodies moving together in perfect synchronization. 

“You look good tonight,” Tiffany says suddenly, but she's still looking at Dennis and Mac is doing the same as he answers. 

“You too.”

They’re quiet for a little while but when Tiffany speaks again she actually turns to face Mac, taking a hold of his wrist to get his attention. 

“Wanna get out of here?”

  
  


~~~

  
  


Tiffany’s car is parked on the other side of the entrance and Mac is thankful because it means no one is there to see them holding hands, Mac failing to keep his balance and Tiffany tugging him along the best she can. No one sees them practically falling into the car, Tiffany’s blonde hair falling on Mac’s face as she straddles him and starts kissing his neck. No one sees Mac fumbling with his belt and no one sees his bare asscheaks on the Italian leather that Tiffany swears she’ll ‘cut your dick off if you get any jizz on’. No one hears Mac telling Tiffany to keep her dress on when they fuck and no one notices how he struggles to get hard even as there is a pair of warm lips around his cock, working it up and down in a rapid motion. Well, Tiffany notices. 

“Look,” she says, her mouth making an almost comedic popping noise as she removes her mouth from his dick, “I don’t mind if you think about someone else, I mean, I’m gonna be thinking about Dennis, so it's totally fine.”

“Yeah,” Mac agrees, his cheeks flushing at the thought of her and Dennis together. Dennis kissing her along her neck, down to her navel, Dennis’s tight mouth around her dick and- hold on, that doesn't sound right.

“I’ll think about, um, someone else too, not Dennis though, that would be weird, right?”

Tiffany rolls her eyes and takes a rough hold of his dick before giving it another long lick along the shaft. Mac closes his eyes and tries to pretend that she’s someone else. He imagines her not as an actual person but as glimpses, deconstructed parts of someone barely out of reach. He imagines blue eyes, blown out in pleasure. He takes off Tiffany’s hairband and imagines soft, short strands of hair between his fingers, a shade darker than her blonde. 

“See, told you it would work,” she mumbles when Mac finally gets hard and her breath tickles his sensitive skin as she speaks. 

“It’s not gonna work if you keep talking,” he mutters and even though Tiffany doesn't seem very amused by that she still lets Mac pull off her panties, throwing them to floor and letting them be a problem for later. 

The backseat of a car turns out to be a very uncomfortable place to lose your virginity. Mac feels the door handle sticking into his back and his hands struggle to find holding and giving him the strength to thrusts upward. Tiffany doesn't make much sound and Mac is grateful. His eyes remain closed and the further away he feels from himself, the closer he gets. It's almost like his mind escapes, letting his body deal with the situation at hand all on its own. Mac isn't really the one losing his virginity to Dennis’s prom date in the backseat of her car. Mac isn't surrounded by the smell of vanilla, sweat, and leather. Mac isn't even here. He's standing outside, his look turned to the gymnasium, wondering when it'll all be over. His fingers travel across his arms, the light from a lonely street light illuminating him. He is feeling for the snake stuck under his skin, looking for the spot where his sins are weighing him down and for the first time in what feels like forever, he finds nothing. He's finally empty,  _ clean _ . 

He looks back at the car but the mist on the window makes the scene inside pretty hard to make out at first. But he keeps looking and spots pale shoulders, a pair of strong hands,  _ his hands _ , clutching at someone's neck. His fingers find their way between light brown locks of hair, pulling them hard as he thrusts again. There is a moan but it's not coming from Tiffany, it's deeper and strangely familiar. Mac furrows his brows and he's not sure who he is anymore, the version of himself standing outside, looking in, or the one actually moving and breathing and sweating. Maybe they are merging together, maybe it doesn't matter. Mac pushes up again, harder, and this time he's sure of it, he knows that voice. He opens his eyes and stops mid-thrust when he sees whos looking back at him, eyes cold blue and jawline just as sharp as he remembers it. 

“Dennis?”

But Dennis doesn't answer, instead, he just huffs, like he's annoyed at Mac for even questioning him, and pushes himself forward to create some friction. And Mac groans, placing his hands on Dennis’s hips to hold him in place, to steady himself before closing his eyes again. They rock back and forth and with each thrust, Mac feels himself getting closer, feels his muscles tighten. He wants to look, wants to see Dennis’s messy hair, his blown out eyes as he comes, but he's afraid it won't be Dennis looking back at him. He's afraid to see the snake lurking in the shadows because even if it’s found its way out of Mac’s body, it’ll always follow him. The devil can’t die, not as long as Mac lets sin find its way back into his life, time and time again. 

They don’t say much when they’re done. Mac apologizes about the jizz on the Italian leather and Tiffany just rolls her eyes in response. She seems kinda deflated again and Mac hopes it's because she's tired, not because he's bad at the whole sex thing. She reapplies her lip gloss in the rearview mirror and puts back her hairband before giving Mac a soft nudge, silently telling him to move his ass and get the hell out of her car. 

“This was nice,” Mac tells her when they're out in the cold air again, the music from the gymnasium a steady hum in the background. 

Tiffany just raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Don’t tell anyone about this and I won't tell anyone you called me Dennis when your dick was inside me, that sound good?”

“I didn't-” Mac flushes, fighting the urge to laugh because this is on another level of ridiculous. 

“I don’t care about your homo-crisis, just don’t tell anyone we slept together,” she sighs, like the conversation is just mildly irritating to her, like she has somewhere better to be, “it would break Ann’s little heart, besides, I do not need everyone to know I got it together with Ronnie the rat, like,  _ gross _ .”

Mac opens his mouth and he swears he has a protest lined up, something to fight this horrendous accusation, but all that comes out is, 

“I won't say anything.”

  
  


~~~

  
  


When Mac wakes up the next day his throat hurts and his mouth feels weirdly dry considering how much he drank the previous night. After Tiffany left Mac went back into the gymnasium but when he couldn't find Charlie nor Dennis he took another swig of the punch and stumbled home. He has a fresh bruise on his hip from bumping into the trash can outside and he should be irritated but honestly, he's just grateful for making it home at all. 

“Morning,” he greets when he enters the kitchen to make himself the tastiest glass of water he's ever had. 

His mom doesn't answer but she does give him a little narrow-eyed look that Mac interprets as acknowledgment and appreciation. She's smoking a breakfast cigarette with a cup of coffee and Mac considered making a cup for himself as well. He could really use something to wake his head up, it's just a shame that coffee tastes like shit unless it's half-filled with sugar. 

“The phones been ringing for you the last hour,” his mom informs him between smoke inhales, “the Reynolds,” she clarifies when Mac gives her a dumb, mouth-open look. 

Mac wastes no time emptying the glass of water and running to the answering machine in the living room. There are eleven unanswered messages but Mac does not bother listening to a single one, he just dials Dennis’s number. 

“Fucking finally,” a voice that's very female and definitely not Dennis’s, answers, “you need to get over here right now, you little cumstain.”

Mac narrows his eyes. Cumstain? He doesn't know any girl who would use such a weird insult except-

“Sweet Dee?”

“Yes?”

“Um,” Mac still feels like his brain is made up of those “one cent gums” that you get in the machines outside of the store, all chewed together and spat out. 

"What's up?" He says for a lack of better response and he can hear Dee groaning loudly on the other side. 

"Dennis is acting batshit insane and he refuses to talk to me," she explains, "he's asking for you though, I don't know why and I don't care, I just don't want him to break more shit."

Mac gulps, "he's breaking shit…" he looks back at his mom but she doesn't seem to react in the slightest, "I don't know if I can come, my mom said I have to clean my room."

"No, I didn't," his mom scoffs, turning her head around to make sure the sound of her voice really travels all the way to the other line.

"Goddamnit, I heard that!" Dee shrieks and Mac has to move the phone away from his ear in order to not catch tinnitus or an ear infection.

"You listen to me you little douche-shit," she hisses and Mac feels himself shuddering at the ice-cold tone of her voice, "If you're not here in ten minutes I will find you in school on Monday and the corridors will be painted red will your blood." 

"Wait, Dee-" Mac says, a slight panic to his tone, but he just hears a click on the other side.

"Dee? Dee?!"

He hangs up the phone and puts it back in the answering machine. It's all okay, he tells himself, he won't die, not today and not on Monday. He'll go over to the mansion and calm Dennis down, everything will be fine. Well, that is unless Dennis somehow he found out about Tiffany and Mac and decides to kill him first because. Maybe someone saw the two of them leaving the dance together, saw them walking hand in hand towards the parking lot, falling into each other's arms once they reached Tiffany's car. Maybe Tiffany told everyone, she is a bitch after all and maybe Mac is the stupidest person on the planet for trusting her in the first place. 

Mac is rushing back up to his room to get changed when another much more terrifying thought hits him. What if Tiffany told everybody about what had accidentally slipped out of Mac while they were mid-fuck. 

_ "I won't tell anyone you called me Dennis when your dick was inside me." _

It's so unfair because she's totally taken the whole thing out of context. Yes, he might have accidentally called Tiffany Dennis while making sweet love to her, but it's really not what it sounds like. First of all,  _ Tiffany _ is the one who said she'd be thinking about Dennis while letting Mac fuck her so it's probably her fault in the first place for putting the idea in his head. Second of all, Mac just got a little bit lost in the moment, that's all, and he genuinely thought Dennis had climbed into the car and replaced Tiffany at one point, who wouldn't be a bit shocked at that? 

Mac swears to the Lord that he really doesn't intend to get himself tangled into all these messes, into all this sin, he just can't seem to help himself. There was a point last night when he'd thought things had changed. His dick was literally inside a vigina, it doesn't get much straighter than that, and he really thought he had absolved himself from his sinful ways. Turns out it was just another one of the devil's tricks, letting him believe just for a second that he could be saved only to take it all back. Show him the light just to blow it out right in front of his face. But maybe it doesn't matter anymore, Dennis might kill him and if he doesn't he'll still hate Mac forever. Mac will have nothing left, he'll go to hell but he won't even get the chance to indulge himself in sin before he does so because what's the point of being sinful if it's not with Dennis?

  
  


~~~

  
  


Dee looks awful, and not in the way she usually looks awful. She has old mascara clumped at her bottom lashes and her hair is in a lazy bun with blonde strands sticking out all over the place. She doesn't tell Mac to come in, just opens the door and steps aside to let him walk past her.

"He's stopped shouting at least, so I think the worst is over," he tells him when he's taking off his shoes.

She doesn't bother explaining further and he doesn't bother asking. Dennis wouldn't tell her shit anyway, he's made that pretty clear the few times Macs seen the twins interacting. 

The steps towards Dennis's room feel heavy and Mac silently wonders if he's voluntarily walking into his own execution. He wonders if it would change anything, what he'd do if he knew for certain whether Dennis was planning to beat the shit out of him or not. A part of him hopes he'd run for his life but another part knows that he probably wouldn't. He'd step right in, hoping for something to burst in last minute to change everything. He'd cling to every last part of Dennis until his fingers bled and his lungs collapsed. 

"Hey, dude-" Mac announces loudly when he opens the door, but he quickly cuts himself off when he sees the state of the room.

There are books scattered all across the floor, all with early similar punctuations in the middle. Dennis is laying flat on his bed and beside him on the floor is a pair of half-open scissors. Mac makes sure to walk slow when he approaches Dennis and it kind of reminds him of trying to calm Charlie after one of his nightmares. It's a balanced softness that can tip over into patronizing if you aren't careful. 

"What are you doing here?" Dennis asks, monotone and far from what Mac was expecting from the way Dee was describing him on the phone.

"Dee told me you asked for me." 

It feels like a goddamn murder scene in here, all that's missing is a corpse. Maybe Dennis is the corpse, he looks lifeless enough, or maybe Mac will be the corpse when Dennis is done with him.

"Fucking bitch," Dennis mumbles but there's no real anger behind it.

He doesn't explain why he asked for Mac or what happened, instead he moves his head back, burying the face in his pillow. The problem is that this really isn't like calming Charlie down at all. When Charlie has a nightmare he’ll hyperventilate or piss himself and Mac has to rub his back until he comes back to reality. But Charlie always turns out fine again, he’ll give Mac one of those half-embarrassed, half-grateful smiles and take a shower or something. But Dennis isn't crying or screaming, Mac almost wishes he would. At least Dennis’s anger is something manageable, Mac can see how it grows, how it gets a life of its own if Mac doesn’t redirect it,  _ control it _ . But the Dennis laying before him isn't bursting with rage, he's been overcome by nothingness and Mac has no idea how to make it go away. 

“So um,” he begins and it hits him how fucking dumb he sounds. He has no idea how to deal with whatever this is and it shines through with every combination of words he tries out in his head.

“What’s going on, Den?” He finally settles for. 

“What's going on,  _ Mac _ ,” Dennis says and Mac can almost hear some comforting sarcasm in the way he says his name, “is that my prom date ditched me to go fuck someone else.”

Mac pushes his hair back even though he doesn't have any gel in it, “really?” he says when he can't come up with anything more convincing. 

“Really,” Dennis repeats, “I called Charlie to ask what happened last night because I got kinda wasted, and he told me he saw Tiffany sneaking out with Tim Murthy.”

“Bro,” Mac says seriously and he makes sure to make his eyes all big, like he's completely shocked at this revelation. Which, he partly is, considering he knows for sure Tiffany didn't come anywhere near Tim Murphy that night. Charlie lied for him, it takes Mac way too long to figure that out, but when he does he has to fight the urge to smile. Charlie, the ears and eyes of Saint Joseph's, probably took notice of the exact moment when Tiffany and Mac left the building. He saw them,  _ he knows _ , and he made sure that no one else would. 

“Oh, it's true,” Dennis says bitterly, closing his eyes like he's too exhausted to keep them open, like he's tired of the world and all those in it.

“I guess she just decided that I was useless, and replaceable, and completely fucking-” for a second Mac thinks he might be working himself up to another breakdown but instead he just sighs, “I don’t even know.” 

Mac really wishes he could tell Dennis about everything that happened. That Tiffany didn't just leave him because she got bored, she was just drunk and pissed off. Mac wants to tell Dennis that Tiffany thought about him the whole time, that Mac did too. But it would probably do more harm than good in the end and Mac isn't sure Dennis would listen to his explanation of how thinking about your buddy while having sex with a girl isn't as gay as it sounds. What was his explanation again? He should probably write this stuff down, actually, he really shouldn't, that's what Charlie would label as incriminating evidence. Mac doesn't ask before he sits down on the bed and Dennis, having his eyes closed, jumps at the sudden motion beside him. 

“Come on, don't” Dennis protests,” you don’t need to do that, we don’t need to  _ talk _ or whatever if that's what you think.”

“I wasn't even saying anything,” Mac mutters grumpily, trying to move Dennis’s stubborn legs that won’t let him sit comfortably. When Dennis refuses to bring them up Mac lifts them surprisingly effortlessly and places them over his own lap. 

“You’re sitting down like we're gonna have some big, serious conversation,” Dennis shots back, “and I don't need that, I don't need  _ you _ .”

Mac should be offended at that but he's silently relieved. This is a Dennis he knows, this is a Dennis that’ll push everyone away even when he wants them to stay. 

“Yeah, sure you don’t, buddy,” Mac smiles, giving Dennis’s legs a little pat, “that's why you totally didn't ask Dee to call me over here.”

Dennis makes a grumpy sound and tries to kick Mac off the bed using his legs. It doesn't work due to Mac’s superior muscle physique and when Dennis realizes his own defeat he sighs, letting them rest easy on Mac’s lap again. 

“I don’t need you,” he repeats, his voice almost coming out as a whisper. 

“You kinda do though,” Mac argues, trying to catch his friend's eyes but failing as they remain glued to the wall, “admit it, without me and Charlie you’d be bored like all the time, you’d be a mess.”

When Dennis doesn't answer Mac continues to push, just a little, just enough to tip him over from indifferent to angry, “You need us, you need  _ me _ , everyone knows it.”

That seems to do the trick, “shut the fuck up,” Dennis barks, sitting up and pulling his legs away from Mac as he does so. 

"Admit it, bro, you need me," Mac says and he realizes, too late, that this is going too far. He's not pushing Dennis from indifference, he's being self-indulgent. Dennis seems to think so too because he tries, emphasis on tries, to push Mac off the bed. But Mac just takes a hold of his wrists, holding him still until he stops struggling.

"Fuck," Dennis winches, trying to twist his way out of Mac’s hold. 

"Come on, I was just trying to-" Mac looks down at Dennis's arm and suddenly the whole world stops.

He can't find air because what used to be beautiful, pale skin is now covered in little, angry, red cuts. Mac looks at it but he doesn't feel like he sees it, like he understands it at all. So instead he looks up at Dennis for answers but Dennis just draws his arm back, more forcefully this time. It must hurt because he lets out another hissed 'fuck' and tries to cover the wounds up with his hand. Mac just stares at him because what the fuck else is he supposed to do? He can't undo any of this, he can't erase it. He can say whatever bullshit he wants, but it won't undo any of it. 

"Leave," Dennis bites, but he can't even look at Mac as he says it, can't even muster any power to the world. 

"Oh, yeah," Mac answers sarcastically, which probably isn't very appropriate considering everything, "like I'm gonna leave you now, come on, dude."

He tries to smile the uneasy feeling away, hoping it might trick Dennis into thinking that he isn't dying a little on the inside. This is Mac's fault, all of it. If he hadn't banged Tiffany, if he hadn't overslept and instead answered one of Dee's million phone calls, everything would be different. If he'd just been there when he was supposed to. 

Dennis looks down at the floor, taking an uneasy breath, "It's not worth it Mac, you can't- I'm fucked up, you can't fix me."

Mac takes that in, considers it for a while in silence. Maybe Dennis is right, maybe he'll always be like this, falling headfirst from one extreme to the other. One minute a God, the next a monster so disgusted with his own reflection he'll cut his own skin to numb the pain. Maybe it'll never stop and maybe Dennis will never be able to care about Mac in the way Mac wants him to. He’ll never be soft enough, kind enough, calm enough. He'll always be Dennis. 

Mac considers it all and then he just smiles again, slowly reaching out to take Dennis’s hand. Dennis flinches at first but then he relaxes again as Mac intertwines their fingers, firm enough to bring him back to earth but not enough to make it hurt.

"I can still try."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I genuinely can't decide if I like this chapter or if it low key sucks and goes on for way too long. If its the latter I'm sorry :// 
> 
> But either way, can we all agree that Mac and Dennis should just get over themselves and kiss already AND that there is no such thing as 100% platonic mutual masturbation???


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I CANNOT believe that this is the last chapter! I'm gonna miss writing on this but at the same time I'm looking forward to future projects and I'm really proud of myself for finishing this and how it all turned out :) 
> 
> Also: Special thanks to insomniacbibliophile on tumblr for beta reading this last chapter, you are a life saver <33

_ “Don't message me 'cause I won't reply, I wanna make you cry _

_ Ain't that how it's s'posed to be? Though it isn't me, _

_ Boys will be bugs, right?” _

  
  
  


**Mac, 18 years old.**

Mac makes sure to inspect Dennis’s arms every chance he gets. He does it without anyone noticing of course, his eyes masterfully adjusted to the art of discretion. And so far he hasn't found anything suspicious, not after that prom-freakout. They never talk about what happened and maybe it's for the best. It's like one of those really old shoes that you find in the basement, the laces so tangled up it would take hours to sort out. They both made mistakes, Mac will forever live with the knowledge he betrayed his best friend and Dennis will forever live with the scars. 

"So this is it, huh?" Charlie says absentmindedly. 

Dennis hums in agreement and Mac stays quiet. They're under the bleachers and you'd think it was a normal lunch break, but it's not. School has been over for almost a week now and it's closing in on midnight. It's over, it's finally over. Mac thought he would be relieved but when the final speeches were held and the caps were thrown up into the air, all he could feel was emptiness. He still has no idea what he wants to do in the future and for a single moment he can't help but think about Will. Will always knew what to do, who he wanted to be, and a part of Mac will always envy him for that. 

A flash of guilt aches in his chest and Mac quickly blurts something out to distract himself, "We're still gonna be friends, right?"

Dennis and Charlie turn their heads towards him at the same time and Mac instantly regrets the words. 

For a second he thinks they're gonna laugh in his face but then Charlie reassures him that, "Of course, we're always gonna be friends, dude, remember? No matter what, that's what we said." 

And Mac does remember. He remembers looking for worms and getting high in Charlie's basement. He remembers spending the summers by the local pool and the winters in the mall using the advantage of big jackets to shoplift as much as possible. He remembers Charlie's hair being untamable and his shirts hanging down to his knees.

"Yeah," he nods and lets out a little laugh. How could he ever believe that there was a world out there where he and Charlie weren't best friends? When he looks over at Dennis however, his smile dies out. Dennis is doing that thing where he knows there is something he should say but isn't saying. Lying by omission, that's what it is. 

"Dennis?" He asks, too casually, judging by Dennis’s glare. 

"Yes, Mac?" 

Mac takes a deep breath, _ this shithead is really gonna make him spell it out, huh? _

"Are _ we _ still gonna be friends?"

There is a moment of tense silence but then Charlie gives Mac a nudge with his foot, "Come on, who else is gonna keep up with all his-"

Charlie gestures vaguely towards Dennis who just crosses his arms in response.

"-Dennis-ness," he finishes. 

"Fuck you very much," Dennis mutters but he doesn't actually protest.

They’re silent again until Dennis asks for a joint and Mac promptly takes out the one from his shoe that he was saving for later. Mac hands over the joint and Dennis sticks in between his lips. He lets it stay there as Mac lights it and everything somehow becomes even more tense. Mac can't decide if he's looking at Dennis's eyes, lips, or the blunt. He manages not to light anything on fire and Dennis takes a deep inhale, looking Mac cold in the eyes as he says,

"I'm going to Penn."

~~~

  
  


The only advantage of Dennis being gone turns out to be that Mac doesn't burn through his weed supply as fast. He doesn't like to smoke alone, never has, and Charlie is more of a glue and paint kinda guy. He thinks about it sometimes, that the summer would go over quicker if he could spend it high and unable to produce any rational thought. The problem however is that after summer comes autumn and after autumn comes winter and so on. The passage of time isn't gonna fix anything, it's not gonna bring back Dennis. Because even after his three years at Penn is over, Dennis won't return. He’ll have the whole world to explore, every fancy and impossibly time-consuming job will be hungry for a piece of him. Dennis will go to Uni, get two new best friends who spend their free time solving crosswords and drinking coffee without sugar. He’ll get a busty girlfriend who'll blow him in the library and then go right back to studying. They'll do a bunch of cliche couple shit that makes Mac sick to his stomach. Dennis is probably in the middle of making a love letter with a bunch of hearts on it and hiding it in her bag.

"What, like Ann you mean?" Charlie asks before reaching his fingers into the jar for another wet pickle. 

"What?" Mac shakes his head, Ann is the last thing he's thinking about right now, "I don't know, sure, but that's not the point."

Charlie bites into the pickle and the crunching sound he makes is somehow pleasing and irritating at the same time. They're sitting in the local park in anticipation of a buyer and the blasting sun is making it hard for either of them to be completely focused. 

"You know," Charlie says, taking another loud bite, "Dennis isn't really the romantic type, he's kind of an asshole."

"He can be romantic," Mac protests, "if he really wants to sleep with a girl he’ll just pretend to be the type of guy she wants, buy her flowers and write her poems, all of that shit."

Charlie hums into his pickle and Mac wrinkles his nose at the pickle water dripping off Charlie's fingers onto the grass below. 

"That's fucking gross, dude," Mac mutters.

Charlie just shrugs so Mac lets it slide. He makes a sweep of the park, makes a note of the couple with the ugly dog, the elderly woman wearing a striped shirt in rainbow colors and the dad buying his son a vanilla ice cream from the ice cream stand. They all look disgustingly happy and Mac doesn't think any of them fit the profile for his new client. It's probably his own fault for thinking a pothead could ever get anywhere in time. 

"I mean yeah, he was an asshole," Mac says absentmindedly, "but so what, I’m selling drugs and you’re eating pickles in a park, it's not like we're much better."

"Are we still talking about Dennis?" Charlie groans, "I get that you miss him but at this point, I just wanna have a conversation about literally anything else."

"I dont miss him!" Mac huffs in protest, to which Charlie just rolls his eyes, "_ I don't _, I just think, like, the vibe is off without him."

"Mm-hm."

"And I think its weird that he hasn't answered any of my texts-"

"Because he's an asshole!" Charlie exclaims, accidentally tilting the pickle jar balancing on his thigh and spilling out some of the liquid on his run-down converse shoes.

"Great, now I'm gonna be smelling like pickle juice for the rest of the day," he says sarcastically, dangling with his foot to shake some of the pickle juice away.

"But seriously Mac, you need to drop this whole Dennis-thing or its gonna drive you crazy, it's already driving _ me _ crazy."

Mac doesn't answer, how could he? The ugly truth is that he’s already gone crazy, the second Dennis left Philly, maybe even before that. Maybe when Dennis lured him into his basement and corrupted him with sin, maybe that day in 9th grade when the two of them first locked eyes and Dennis asked for "one marijuana, please" like someone who hadn't even seen weed before.

  
  


~~~

  
  


_ "Heyo, just Mac checking in to see how ur settling in on campus, call me if you want" _

_ "Hey, just wanted to see how things are,,, is Dee still wearing that iron cage?? Send me a picture of it, I need a good laugh." _

_ "Mac here! Me and Charlie are doing good, thanks for not asking. Business is steady and Charlie is learning how to turn oranges into alcohol (they do it in prison) Call me when you have time." _

_ "Hey Dennis" _

_ "Dennis" _

_ "Dennis" _

_ "Hey Dennis, Mac here. Just wanted to see how you were doing. Again. Call me back." _

Mac presses send on that last message and promptly throws his phone onto the mattress. It lands with a thump and a small part of Mac wishes it would fall to the floor, shattering into a million little pieces. He's not gonna get an answer, he knows this by now and yet he can't stop trying. He can't give up on Dennis no matter how much of a complete dick he is because who would he be without him? As much as Charlie will forever be his best friend Dennis has also become an ingrained part of him. They're Mac and Dennis. They're blood brothers. And even if Dennis might think he's ready to give that up Mac knows that isn't how their story is supposed to go. God wouldn't have put Dennis into his life just to take him away. It has to mean something beyond just teaching him that life is cruel. Mac already knows that most things in life suck dick. His mom barely talks to him and his dad is stuck in prison. He's never gotten above a C on a test and his best friend once tricked him into swallowing an ant. He was born wrong in every way imaginable, set out to fail before he even got the change to try his luck. Mac knows life is cruel, he doesn't need God reminding him by taking away one of the few things that actually don’t suck. 

His thought process is instantly put on hold when a loud buzz erupts through the quiet room. At first Mac doesn't want to look. He's played this game before, the 'I let myself believe that Dennis texted me when it was someone else' - game, and it's as disappointing every single time. And yet he has to check, has to make sure. He slumps down, opens the phone and starts reading. 

_ "Can you come over this weekend?" -Dennis _

  
  


~~~~

  
  


The car gives out an irritated roar only to die again just when Mac think it’ll finally start. He resists the urge to slam his head against the steering wheel and tries to twist the car keys again.

"Are you sure you can drive?”

“I can drive,” Mac insists for the millionth time that day, “this car is just a piece of shit.”

“Dude, you don't even have a license.”

Mac pulls out the keys only to shove them in again, more forcefully this time as if to say ‘this is your last chance, buddy, or else.’

“You don't need a license to drive, that's just liberal propaganda.”

The car awakens again and gives out a weird almost cat-like sound, then it, of course, falls asleep again. Fucking typical. 

“I don't think this is gonna-” 

“It’s gonna work, Charlie,” Mac interrupts as he desperately tries twisting around the key, “and if you’re gonna keep this attitude up, I'm demoting you to backseat.”

Charlie actually looks pretty upset at the prospect of losing shotgun privileges. He’s wearing a white T-shirt which miraculously enough is free of any stains and on his head he's tied a stupid, red bandana to ‘get the attention from the ladies.’ Mac is more practically clothed. He has borrowed Mrs. Kelley’s reading glasses and a black shirt with all but the very last buttons closed. He's aiming to actually look like he belongs at Penn despite never having set foot on campus before. He doesn't want to get stared at by the other students there or have them whisper things about how he's clearly in the wrong part of town. 

“I’m not sitting in the backseat, dude, that's taking it too far,” Charlie pouts, “in that case, we might as well walk, it's not even that far.”

“We are not walking, I told you we gotta make an entrance.”

He twists the keys one last time and the car purrs awake. This time however, it doesn't instantly die again and Mac lets out a joyous shout. 

“What did I tell you, Charlie,” he smiles, looking behind him to avoid slamming into any other cars as he backs out onto the driveway, “patience.”

Charlie just hums in response and fastens the seatbelt around him. Then they are out on the road, the wind forcefully blowing in from the window throwing with their hair and making their eyes water. Mac doesn't care about the wind, he doesn't care when some a-hole shouts at him to ‘learn how to fucking drive you imbecile’ and he doesn't even care about Charlie puts on some weird radio station where the hosts are in the middle of discussing whale-mating. Mac doesn't care because for the first time in over three months he’ll get to see Dennis. They’ll talk, Dennis will talk to _ him _ and maybe he’ll even smile his way or put his arm around Mac’s shoulders like he always does when he's in a good mood. It’ll all be like it used to be. They’ll bullshit around, get angry at one another for some stupid reason no one can remember an hour later. They’ll get wasted, say too much, touch too much, and they’ll both pretend it doesn't mean anything. Dennis will introduce him and Charlie to all his friends, they’ll all hang out together and it’ll all be perfect. 

~~~

"Since when do you wear glasses?"

That's the first thing Dennis says to him. It's not like Mac expected a passionate embrace and a string of "how you been's'" and "I've missed you's" but he'd hoped for something. Anything else than that.

"I…" Mac takes the glasses off like they might burn his skin if they stay on for one second longer, "It's stupid, I borrowed them from Charlie's mom, it's stupid."

He looks down at the ground, focuses his gaze on the sun reflecting in the white of Dennis's converse. Its weird, Mac thought he'd be wearing a tailored suit and black leather shoes, walking around like some future lawyer-doctor or whatever it is Dennis wants to be when he grows up. Mac wasn't picturing washed out jeans paired with an oversized "Penn State" hoodie. He wasn't picturing a Dennis with uncombed hair and that "I haven't eaten since yesterday" tired gray framing his face, piling on under his eyes and under his cheekbones. 

"Whatever," Dennis shrugs, "you guys want a tour or something?"

Mac shrugs back and Charlie looks between the two of them in that quietly worried way Mac usually can't stand. This time he gets it though. Dennis looks like he's seconds away from fainting. He hasn't even addressed Charlie yet and for once Mac doesn’t think its because he's deliberately trying to be an asshole. He just seems out of it, like he's high on pain medication or something.

They walk around campus and let Dennis monologue about the history of Penn. He seems to have the whole thing rehearsed, babbling on about the significance of every little statue, lake and tree. Apparently everything at Penn comes with its own story, a story Dennis has now become a part of. A story where Mac and Charlie play obscure side characters who feel like they come from a different book entirely. 

"And in there," Dennis points towards the library building undoubtedly crawling with overachieving know-it-all’s who have nothing better to do for the weekend than to study, "there is an elevator that the real Gerald R. Ford got stuck in. I think it was like eighty-four, eighty-five…"

Charlie opens his mouth for the first time on their tour, "I think his name is Harrison actually." 

Dennis raises a dangerous eyebrow, an angry spark replacing indifference "Excuse me?”

“Well, I’m not trying to call you stupid,” Charlie reassures a Dennis who looks all but reassured, “but I think his name is _ Harrison _ Ford.”

The next second, three things occur at the same time; Mac takes a step forward to get in between a fuming Dennis and a confused Charlie. Dennis starts to say “you absolute imbecile-” but is promptly interrupted by a weirdly cheerful “what's cracking?”. 

The three of them all turn around to face an Asian woman who's also wearing one of those “Penn State” hoodies that lets everyone know how much of a disappointment she _ isn't _. Her black, thick, hair is collected in a tight bun on the top of her head and maybe if she stuffed her bra and invested money in some makeup she could be considered hot by the general public. 

“Not much,” Dennis fake laughs, pretending that he wasn't just two seconds away from dragging Charlie by the hair through campus for confusing a former president with a beloved actor (a common mistake really). 

“What’s up, Gina?” 

Gina smiles but Mac doesn’t know her well enough to figure out if its genuine or not, “I'm good, Den, you guys coming tonight or what?”

Mac frowns at the nickname. Den, _ Den _ ? He looks over at Dennis, sorry, _ Den _, to see him mockingly reject this casual gesture of verbal intimacy. It's not like Mac hasn't used nicknames on Dennis before but that's entirely different. Mac and Dennis, unlike this random girl, are blood brothers. They’ve gone through it all, they've even seen each other's dicks on multiple occasions and if that's not a qualification for calling each other nicknames, what is? But maybe, Mac realizes, this Gina chick has seen Dennis’s dick too and that's why, instead of making some snide remark, Dennis just smiles her way.

“Yeah, sure, wouldn't miss it for the world.”

Gina smiles back and it's creepy Mac decides. A clown-like, serial killer-esk, smile, that's what it is. Who smiles that much anyway, what's she got to be so happy about? Mac guesses if she really is banging Dennis that is as good of a reason as any to be cheery. 

“Bring your friends too, the more the merrier!”

~~~

This is so wrong, entirely wrong. This is chickens eating chicken-nuggets for dinner wrong. This is like if his mom became a talk show host and his dad picked up ballet. If this was a book, this would be the chapter you’d skip, or better yet, burn. 

They’re at the frat party, if you can call a bunch of teenagers (all in different stages of being high out of their minds) just kind of hanging out, a party. Charlie has abandoned him, or rather been kidnapped by the psych majors. For some reason they find him fascinating beyond words, some of them having taken out their notebooks to write down his answers to their no doubt increasingly private questions. Mac is pretty sure it's immoral but its the first time he's seen people be so openly interested and kind towards Charlie so he doesn't intervene. And he sees how Charlie revels in the attention, not in the way Dennis does, like it's a certainty, the natural order of things, but Charlie looks genuinely excited to have strangers care enough about him to ask him questions.

Charlie deserves it, he really does, and if any of those wannabe therapists know half as much about psychology as they pretend to, maybe they can help Charlie become more… functional. Maybe he’ll stop peeing the bed and have weird nightmares and twitch at every sudden sound or touch when he feels stressed out. It's not like Mac minds much, all those weird ticks, they're what makes Charlie, Charlie, but sometimes he feels guilty that he can't give his friend the help he needs. 

Dennis on the other hand really did abandon him. He disappeared the second they walked in and Mac hasn't seen him since. He wishes it surprised him, that Dennis couldn't possibly be the type of person who'd invite him to a party with strangers only to leave without a word. 

Mac has stopped looking for him now or at the very least stopped going around tapping people on the shoulders and asking if they've seen "a pale, skinny kid with really nice blue eyes". He sees it as an improvement, a step towards something less pathetic and needy. 

The room is dimmed down but someone has placed out candles which, frankly, should be considered a serious safety risk around these half-brained supposed “geniuses”. There is corny indie music playing from somewhere and Mac would rather swallow his tongue than admit it actually has a nice vibe to it, whatever that means. He has yet to spot the beer which, once again is just wrong. If he is going to survive without both Dennis and Charlie in this sea of upper-class know it alls he is going to need alcohol, and a lot of it preferably. He pushes a douchebag wearing a backwards cap out of his way as he makes his way through the room. _ Who arranges a party without beer? _

There are groups of students all scattered around the fraternity, some of them taking turns violently making out and others talking about smart people things like scientific studies, political ideologies and _the_ _news_. Maybe he should have put the glasses back on… 

“Mac!” 

Mac turns around and of course it's Gina giving him one of those overly cheery smiles.

“It's Mac, right?” She asks him when he doesn't immediately return her psycho-smile. 

“Yeah,” he shrugs. 

“You’re a friend of Dennis?” She asks even though she clearly knows the answers, having seen the three of them together earlier that day. Mac figures she's just trying to make conversation but it's kind of annoying, asking questions you already know the answers to. 

“Yeah,” he says again, “do you know where the beer is?” 

  
  


~~~

Three beers later and Gina isn't half as annoying as she used to be. They're sitting on one bean bag each (which by the way, is the most genius thing Mac has ever experienced). Gina is going to town on a blunt Mac rolled for her while ranting about the importance of integrated communities, something Mac isn't sure he grasps the concept of yet.

“And, like,” she says, giving him a firm shake by the shoulder, “that’s why I’m so happy you and that bandana guy are here. Penn isn't supposed to be a community filled with rich assholes, it's supposed to be a place where people of all backgrounds and socioeconomic-”

“Gina,” Mac interrupts which makes Gina go quiet for the first time in a long time, looking at him with reddening eyes like she's lost her entire train of thoughts. 

"Yeah?" She asks but the way she pronounces it makes it sound like she's just saying "eeh?"

"I was just wondering," Mac shifts a bit, the beanbag rustling underneath him, "you and Dennis, are you like…"

Gina's eyebrows slowly raise up. She stares at him for a while and then she has the balls to laugh him right up in his face.

"You...you," she stammers between laughs, "me and Dennis, that's-"

"I was just wondering, you don't have to make fun of me," he mumbles offended, making an attempt to sit up but being pushed down again by a (still) snickering Gina. 

"No," she coes, "Mac, Mac, you don't get it, I’m a lesbian, as gay as they come."

Mac stares at her.

"I would rather drink a cactus smoothie than let Dennis’ dick anywhere near me, no offense," she explains, her giggling settling down a bit, "besides, isn't Dennis gay too?" 

If Mac was staring before, this is double, triple staring. 

"I mean," Gina goes on, ignoring his utter look of disbelief, "I just got that vibe, you know."

Mac does not know and he is suddenly reminded that he has no idea of where Dennis is. That Dennis wanted them to come, wanted him to come, and yet he disappeared as soon as they got there. He hasn't made a single attempt to express his gratitude, hasn't asked any of them a single question about how life has been since he left. He doesn't give a fuck about any of it and yet, here Mac is, talking to his friends about him because it's the only thing he really cares about tonight. It's why he's here.

"Why would you think…" Mac trails off, swallows hard, "how do you tell, if someone is gay I mean? Is it some kind of vibe only other gay people can pick up on?" 

Gina giggles again, "you are so sweet," she says, "really, this is exactly why the whole integration thing is so important…"

"Okay, forget it," Mac mumbles and channels his inner soberness to stand up, much to Gina's displeasure. 

"No, don't leave," she pouts, lazily tugging at his pant leg, "I'll tell you about the gay thing, just-"

She yanks his leg and Mac hesitantly sits down again.

"So," she smiles like she's about to tell the story of a century, "it's more about small little clues than a vibe. 'Gay-vibes' is probably a misleading term, it's more like, gay-indicators."

"Okay, so what are they?" Mac presses on. He feels like an undercover journalist trying to get top-secret information he'll in no doubt use to his own advantage.

Gina shrugs, "you know, it can be how someone talks, if everything they say feels like a performance, I think that's what made me wonder about Dennis."

Mac feels the room starting to spin which is weird because he usually has a much higher alcohol tolerance than this.

"Every time he talks about women it just kinda feels hollow, like some speech he prepared beforehand. And, you know, I love women, so I know when that shit isn't coming from the heart." 

Mac needs to find Dennis, he needs to… He isn't sure what he's supposed to say, but he needs to do something. 

"Besides, I’m fucking his sister and she told me she saw him jacking off with his guy friend once. Like, that’s objectively gay."

The vibration of her laugh rattles his insides, makes his heart stop, melts his bones. His body feels like it’s made out of bugs trapped inside a glass container slowly being roasted on an open fire. They know they're being burnt alive, they feel the heat under their little bug-feet, and they can't do anything but run around in panic, crushing their skulls to the walls in hope of finding a way out.

  
  


~~~

The hollow sound of Mac dry heaving fills an otherwise ghostly quiet campus. He's standing outside one of the buildings, not too far from that one statue that was really important for reasons he can't remember anymore. His shaking hands are clasped at his knees as he leans forward, trying puke out his insides. He wants to be empty and clean and a little bit less of himself. It doesn't work. 

Mac looks up at the sky, catching his breath from having just run down all those stairs, afraid he was going to puke his brains out. That's the only thing that could have made this situation worse; him puking in front of a bunch of strangers. Somewhere behind him Gina was yelling but he's pretty sure she wouldn't have followed him, not for long at least. By now, Gina has likely forgotten about the whole thing, preoccupied with babbling on about socioeconomic inter-something with someone else.

He stares up at the stars, wondering what the hell he's supposed to do now. Gina knows, Dee knows, Tiffany knows and probably Charlie too. Thats already four people not including the handful of priests whom Mac had to confess himself to after every Dennis-sleepover. After a while, it became a lot of confessions. A lot of ‘forgive me lords’, a lot of hail marys and a lot of promises it would never happen again. At this rate, the whole world will know before he's old, or like, forty. He was cursed the moment he met Dennis, a seed of sin that would naturally spread to everyone else around him, like roots of cancer. It's like the devil himself walked up to him that day and marked his forehead with 'sinner' and his heart with 'Property of Dennis Reynolds'. Mac’s life has never been the same since, he's just been too preoccupied with the heavenly sensation of sin to even notice the creaking around him, the world getting closer to falling apart. 

He needs to get out of here, if he knows what's good for him he'll drive straight to church and repent until he doesn't remember his own name anymore. He’ll forget about Charlie and Dennis and all the parts of himself that are broken. He’ll become fully devoted, pray before every meal and every piss-break. He'll be in church every second he has time to spare and he’ll find a good Christian girl, a Mary or Sarah who’s never tried pot and always wears skirts that go over her knees. They’ll get married and his mom and dad will sit in the first row on their wedding, together, a smile on their lips. They’ll have a shit-ton of kids and Mac will provide for them all, he’ll lead by example and he’ll never forget to tell them how much he loves them. 

If he knows what's good for him he’ll leave his life behind for the life he can have. The life he’s supposed to have. 

~~~

Mac says a quick prayer before reaching for the doorknob, knowing if the door is locked he’ll have no way of getting away from this place. It's typical, really, that he brings everything else, his wallet and his weed but not his car keys. A part of him however, is also praying that the door won’t open, that God will make his choices for him, force him to stay. But then again, Mac has no authority to recognize the work of God anymore. The Devil is clearly closer than he’d like and he has to make sure not to fall into his traps anymore. No more missteps, no more sin, he reminds himself as he turns the doorknob. 

The door is pushed in with the weight of Mac’s body against it and he stumbles inside, turning the light switch on in order to faster find the keys. He swears he left them on the table but when he walks in and looks at it all he sees are a bunch of psychology books stacked on top of each other and an open beer. The dorm room feels big and claustrophobic at the same time. It's undoubtedly fancier than the one-bedroom dorm rooms you see in the movies. This place actually has a mini-kitchen with a microwave and dishwasher, as well as a door to the bedroom. Mac wonders if all the other rooms look like this or if Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds paid extra. “Only the best for our Dennis” that's what Mrs. Reynolds told him when Mac asked why they always had those fancy, sugary cereals at home, and it’s probably exactly the same reasoning she had when deciding to get him this place. Mac wonders if Dee also has one of these big rooms but quickly dismisses the idea. The thought of Dee makes him aware of something vague Gina said about Dee that he probably should remember, but then again if it's about Dee it can't be that important. She's a bitch who told Gina about him and Dennis, there's really nothing else that’s important at this point. He might never talk to her again if he's lucky. Well, that is if he manages to find the fucking car keys. 

He groans when he stands up straight again, finally done searching the floor for the keys. He really is cursed. Every second he spends in this place is a second he still has time to change his mind. It's a second the devil can spend recruiting him to the side of the sinners. And Mac really wouldn't need much convincing, he already knows what sin feels like. It's better than any expensive cereal in the world, it's better than sleeping for as long as you want to in the morning, it's even better than getting high with Charlie and making up weird backstories for the people that pass them on the street. Sin is like finally being able to breathe after a life underwater. It feels so easy when you taste that air for the first time, so easy in fact that you forget that it's not a guarantee, that it can be taken from you.

Suddenly, Mac can smell smoke and for a stupid second he thinks it’s the pit fires of hell coming to swallow him whole. It's not of course, but the smoke in the air it's prominent enough for Mac to abandon his desperate search for his car keys and open the door to the bedroom. 

A cold wind hits him in the face as soon as he steps in and it doesn't take more than a second to figure out why. Both windows are wide open, allowing for autumn to make an entrance. Dennis is sitting with his legs out of the window, one of his hands holding the window frame and the other holding a cigarette. He leans his head back in order to meet Mac’s look but he doesn't say hi. He doesn't say “I’m sorry I left you at the party”, “I'm sorry for inviting you here only to be weird the entire time”, “I’m sorry for all of it.”

He doesn't say anything and Mac doesn't either, not for a long time at least. He just stands there, breathing and existing but not much more than that. It's a test, it has to be. The devil wants to tempt him one last time and God is silently watching, wondering if Mac will fall for it yet again. But he won’t. Looking at Dennis like this, one slip of the hand away from falling to his death, the end of his cigarette bud falling onto his pants, he looks so weak. He's not a God, this almighty deity that Mac can't possibly resist. Suddenly Dennis is just Dennis. 

“Have you seen my car keys?” 

Dennis blinks at him like maybe he was preparing himself for something else. 

“Yeah, I think I saw them somewhere around here,” he answers absentmindedly. 

Mac sighs and turns away from the window to see if the keys might have found their way to the bed table or something. He hears Dennis take a long drag of the cigarette behind him. That's another weird thing in the sea of weird things today; Dennis doesn't smoke. Well, of course he smokes pot, but that's different. Dennis only smokes when he knows he’ll get weed from Mac for free but he’s never smoked cigarettes before, said it was a habit for construction workers. 

“Are you going home?” He asks and Mac sighs again. 

“Where else,” he mutters. 

He doesn't want to turn around so he pretends to search the bed, turning the pillows upside down and pushing the covers into a pile on the end of the bed. 

“You’re making a mess of everything,” Dennis says in a voice that's too calm to be his own, “Can’t you just find them in the morning.”

Mac spins around, glaring at Dennis like it's the first time he can see him, like he’s just a translucent shell barely holding in all that he is made of; pride, lust, envy and wrath. 

“I’m leaving tonight,” Mac says firmly and he can see the muscles of Denis’s face unclench as well as the fingers tightly holding on to the window frame. He opens his mouth only to close it again. 

“And I’m not coming back, by the way,” Mac goes on, “we won't see each other for a very long time, maybe never.”

Mac thinks Dennis will just laugh in his face and say something along the lines of “as if you could last a day without me”. 

But he doesn't, all Dennis can muster as a response is, “Okay.”

“Okay, that's it?”

It's a test, Mac knows it is and yet he can't help but feel rage building up inside him. He's throwing away how many years of friendship, of _ brotherhood _, and Dennis can’t even lift a finger to stop him. 

“What do you want me to say, Mac?” Dennis looks at the cigarette in his hand, “I knew it would end up like this.”

“Like what?” Mac bites out. 

“I’d leave for Penn, you’d do whatever you’re doing and we’d...” Dennis shrugs, “we’d grow apart I guess.”

“We’re not growing apart,” Mac argues, “and if we are, that's your fault, bro.”

“You can't blame everything on me, Mac, that's not how this works.”

“Fuck you,” Mac spits, he takes a step closer to the window in order to fully take in the way Dennis isn’t reacting to any of this, “fuck you,” he repeats. 

“I can't respond to that,” Dennis answers because of course that's what he’d answer. The second things get a little too real, a little out of his grasp, he runs.  
  


“You’re the one who refuses to answer my text, you’re the one who left me at that party,” Mac says fiercely, “You’re just completely off, dude.”

“It’s not your problem,” Dennis says, his eyes glancing off to the side to somewhere we’re Mac can't reach them anymore. 

“It never is,” Mac snarls, “but somehow I’m always there anyway.”

Dennis takes a last drag of the cigarette, closing his eyes on the exhale, before putting it out against the windowsill. 

“What do you want from me, Mac? You want to leave so badly? Then leave.”

He climbs out of the window and jumps down to the floor to face Mac. His face is even paler in the translucent moonlight and he’s wearing a white t-shirt even though it's colder than when he was wearing the thick, oversized hoodie. Mac feels his heart thrumming in his chest and he opens his mouth to say something but nothing manages to come out. Dennis sighs like a parent would sigh at a misbehaving child, not angry, only disappointed. He reaches for something in his jeans pocket and hands it to Mac. 

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Mac breathes, snatching the car keys out of Dennis’s hold, “I broke my back looking for those.”

Dennis rolls his eyes, “I'm pretty sure if you actually broke your back, you wouldn’t even be able to stand up.”

“You’re such a piece of shit,” is all Mac can answer and Dennis just shrugs in response. 

Mac looks down at the car keys in his hands. His ticket out, the first step in his road to salvation. 

“You’re really leaving?” Dennis says and if Mac had not spent all that time decoding all the different variations of Dennis’s voice he’d simply think he was being indifferent, couldn't care less. But somewhere in those syllables Mac can hear fear. Mac can hear doubt and hatred and regret. Grief for something that didn't even have the chance to be born. 

“There is no reason for me not to.”

Mac didn't mean to say it out loud and he certainly didn't mean for it to sound so harsh. He regrets it the instant he sees Dennis’s face, the way his shoulder twitches like he’s just been hit. It makes Mac’s throat feel dry and the voice inside his head screaming “leave” becomes louder and louder. It knows, just as well as Mac does, that time is running out. 

Dennis is completely still and his blue eyes feel colder than usual, like some of the color has disappeared while the two of them have been apart. He’s staring at Mac like he wants to say something but can’t. And this isn't like Dennis at all, when he wants to say something he does, doesn't matter if it's rude or batshit insane. Even when he can’t say something out loud he figures out a way to say it with an insult, with a joke, with a sarcastic remark, with _ something _. He's never quiet like this, like the right words are there, at the tip of his tongue, and so he can't open his mouth at all in fear that they’ll fall out on accident. 

So Dennis is quiet and Mac is quiet. Come to think of it the world in itself is quiet. There is nothing left to say so Mac has to act instead. 

He takes a deep breath, inhaling cigarette smoke and autumn wind and _ strength _, and turns around. Time has run out and Mac needs to pick a side once and for all. Heaven or hell, damnation or salvation. The life he wants or the one he’s supposed to have. 

He feels a hand on his shoulder as he's about to take a step towards the door. Fingers curling into his skin, almost painful in the way they refuse to let him go. Mac turns around and Dennis is still there, looking at him intently. Mac doesn't know why he thought he would have disappeared but he's still surprised somehow. Dennis moves in closer, lets the hand clenching his shoulder softens and moves up the back of his neck. Dennis’s grip is so firm and this is the most _ him _ he's been since they reunited. He's got something determined and fiery in his eyes. Dennis’s hand around Mac’s neck is warm and sends a wave of familiar sin through his body. The voice inside his head telling him to leave is screaming so loud that its turned into a constant, high pitch, hum. He is standing with his arms dangling pathetically along his sides and he doesn't move as Dennis puts his other hand on Mac’s jawline, his thumb resting lightly on his chin and his ring finger on his throat, right where his pulse is the loudest, the most desperate. And Mac can’t breathe because holy shit, how is he supposed to breathe when Dennis is this close? How is he supposed to make a rational decision, how is he supposed to leave? 

“Mac,” Dennis says, and his voice is so soft Mac barely recognizes it. He looks away, knowing that he can't be responsible for himself when Dennis looks at him like that. That line, the line they’ve been bordering on for years, it feels so close now, so close it's burning his entire body into pieces. 

“Mac,” Dennis says again and his name suddenly feels like a plea, a prayer.

“Mac, stay.”

And so, Mac does. 

In the end, the decision isn't really even a decision at all. It's not a question of hell and heaven, it's a question of Dennis and everything else, and as usual, Dennis wins, every single time. 

Mac meets Dennis’s eyes again and it must show on his face that he’s not going anywhere because Dennis relaxes, his shoulders unclenching and his fingers softening against Mac’s burning skin. And Mac does the only thing there’s left to do, leaning forward and connecting his body, his skin, his lips, with Dennis. 

Mac was so wrong about sin. Sin isn’t like breathing for the first time, it's not like fancy cereal or getting high with Charlie. Sin is a force of its own, an entity with no comparisons. When you taste it for the first time, lips that are deadly hot against your own, you’re certain that you’re either dying or being alive for the first time. You wonder how you’re ever supposed to let go, if there is a point to anything at all anymore if you can’t have this. If you can’t have _ him _. You wonder why you waited so long. 

Mac’s hands find their way to Dennis’s sides, desperately clinging to the white fabric of his shirt to hold himself up. His body is shaking with adrenaline and Dennis must feel it because he presses himself harder against Mac, letting his sharp teeth graze Mac’s already aching bottom lip. Mac whimpers stupidly but he doesn't even have the time to be embarrassed about it because Dennis launches forward to bite at his lip again, and again and again. And Mac can’t help but get lost in it, the way he doesn't feel like himself anymore but rather an extension of Dennis like Dennis is an extension of him. The way they were always supposed to be. 

Mac doesn't snap out of it until Dennis’s biting travels from his mouth to his neck. _ Fuck, this is gonna leave bruises _, Mac thinks and the thought makes him just as terrified as it makes him hard. He lets another embarrassing moan escape his lips and he can feel Dennis smiling against his skin. 

“What?” Dennis teases, “you like that?”

He looks up at Mac, letting their eyes meet for a tense second before Dennis puts his hands between Mac’s legs, feeling the outline of his hard dick. Mac reacts instantly, stifling a groan and looking up at the ceiling to avoid Dennis’s knowing eyes. But he doesn't need to be looking at Dennis to know he is smiling at the satisfaction of knowing the power he has over Mac. Dennis controls him at every touch and they both know it. 

“You sure _ seem _ to be liking it,” he says casually, letting his hand move over the rough fabric of Mac’s jeans. 

This is really fucking unfair. Mac would be glaring at Dennis if it wasn't for the fact that he is too horny and overwhelmed to do much of anything other than being a whimpering mess. 

“Fuck off,” Mac manages to bite out but it must not sound convincing because Dennis’s smile widens. 

“Fuck off,” Dennis mimics in a voice that really is too deep to be Mac’s. 

“Yeah, I’ll just, fuck off,” Dennis continues and Mac isn’t sure if he’s supposed to be as happy seeing that smile as he is considering that it's mocking him, “I’ll leave you alone, I wouldn’t want to be a bother, now would I?”

Mac debates killing him for a second but instead settles for messing up his hair as he puts his hands in it, roughly pulling Dennis in for another kiss. Their mouths meet again and it’s now Dennis turn to let out a moan, making Mac instantly grin against his lips. 

“Don’t even-” Dennis warns but Mac does not have a snarky comment in mind. Instead he puts his hands on Dennis’s waist, leading him backwards towards the bed. And Dennis lets himself be pushed down on the messed up blanket and upside down-pillows. He lets Mac get on top of him, he lets Mac drown him in kisses and hold him down, Mac’s hands at his chest. He lets Mac place a knee between his legs and he lets Mac be witness to how the applied pressure makes his emotionless face turn into a look of strangled pleasure. 

“You don’t even know,” Mac whispers. 

He’s in the middle of removing Dennis’s t-shirt, his fingers making sure to memorize every inch of Denni’s chest. The pale shade of his skin, the feel of his pink nipples, the way his freckles travel along the lines of his ribs.

“You don’t even know,” he says again as he pulls away the fabric and throws it away, letting it land in a messy pile on the floor. 

Dennis’s eyes are half-open when his mouth meets Mac’s again. It’s messy and their lips barely manage to connect half of the time. Mac is distracted with opening the fly on Dennis’s jeans and Dennis is distracted with feeling the muscles of Mac’s back. 

Mac pulls away from Dennis, the fly having proven to be the worst cockblock of the century and his now sworn enemy. An eternity of hissing curses later, Mac manages to open Dennis’s jeans, instantly pulling them off and throwing them away to somewhere he never has to see them again. When he's finally able to take in the sight of Dennis’s pale thighs and black boxers he gulps audibly like he’s a fucking cartoon character and Dennis’s dick is Jessica Rabbit. 

“Well?” Dennis complains, “are you just gonna stare at it or-”

His next words turn into a gasp as Mac swiftly puts his hand under the waistband of his boxers, his fingers curiously stroking the length of Dennis’s dick. Dennis is already half-hard and Mac feels him getting firmer with each stroke. He smiles teasingly at Dennis who, no doubt would be rolling his eyes if he could. 

“Your, ngh-” Dennis groans when Mac moves his hand, harder this time, “your hands are cold as shit, Mac.”

Mac raises an eyebrow because judging by the precum coating his fingers, nothing he’s doing seems to actually be unpleasant for Dennis. But Dennis continues glaring at him and his apparently cold hands, so Mac shrugs and removes the grip around his dick. 

“Oh, for fuck sake, Mac,” Dennis groans, “that does not mean I want you to stop.” 

He seems genuinely frustrated and Mac can’t help but chuckle as he moves down Dennis’s body, leaving a warm kiss at his hipbone before pulling down his boxers. He puts his lips around the head of his cock, tasting the precum and deciding its kinda weird, horrific but also the best thing in the world. Dennis lets out a shaky breath when Mac moves up the line of his cock and Mac feels Dennis’s fingers in his hair, pulling at it. Mac takes it as a sign of encouragement and continues moving up and down with his mouth. He tries to remember all those pornos he and Dennis used to watch in the basement. He tries to remember what the girls did with their tongues, where they put their hands, what they said, but comes up completely empty. The only thing he remembers is Dennis, not unlike now, red in the face and having an increasingly harder time suppressing his moans as he was getting closer to orgasm. So Mac doesn't think about the pornos, instead he continues licking up and down Dennis’s shaft, his tongue teasing Dennis’s slit and his fingers roughly pressing into Dennis’s thighs. And the sounds Dennis makes are desperate, and impatient, and heavenly. 

“Perfect, that's perfect,” he mumbles feverishly, “you’re fucking perfect, Mac.”

So Mac quickens the pace and Dennis’s words turn into unittelagable rambles and moans. His hands leave Mac’s hair and instead clasps at the sheet under him. Mac can feel his muscles clenching and unclenching under him so he moves away, just in time to avoid getting his mouth filled with Dennis’s cum. Some of it does manage to come on his exposed throat and the neckline of his shirt but it doesn't matter, not when Dennis is looking at him like _ that _. His smile is dazed and his face is still red, but Mac thinks he's the most beautiful thing in the world. Of course, it's not like Mac hasn't seen Dennis’s post-cum face before but it's never been like this. It's usually just a glimpse, an accidental glance before the both of them look away, embarrassed. Mac has never been allowed to take it all in before, to fully linger on the sight. 

“Fuck,” Dennis laughs, then, spotting Mac’s boner torturously pressing against his pants, he asks, “you want me to help you out with that?”

  
  


~~~

  
  


Mac should be embarrassed over how quickly he came undone under Dennis’s touch but truly, laying beside him now, Dennis’s jaw resting on his naked shoulder, he couldn’t care less. The air in the bedroom is no longer cold and reeking of cigarette smoke, its warm and smells vaguely of sex, none of them having bothered to clean up properly. 

“I’m sorry about before,” Dennis says suddenly, his breath tingling on Mac’s exposed collarbone, “this whole Penn thing wasn't what I thought it would be and I guess I’ve been a bit…”

Dennis makes a mumbling sound that doesn't even begin to resemble a word so Mac finishes for him, “you’ve been a complete dick.”

Dennis doesn't answer but he does press his face further into the nape of Mac’s neck so Mac takes it as at least a half-confirmation. 

“You should have just let me help you,” Mac says, letting his hand absentmindedly play with Dennis’s hair, “If I knew you hated this place so much I would have kidnapped you or something.”

Dennis laughs into his shoulder and then, lifting up his head to look at Mac properly, says, “I don’t hate this place, I just don’t feel like myself here.”

Mac is quiet and so Dennis continues, “It’s not me,” he shrugs, “all these people have their entire lives planned ahead them and I’m still trying to figure out what the fuck I want.”

“Yeah,” Mac agrees, “I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing anymore either.”

“And _ this _ doesn't exactly make it less complicated.”

Dennis doesn't have to explain what _ this _ is because Mac is already thinking it. How can he not when their naked bodies are literally inches apart, Dennis’s hair tickling his jawline and his hand lying lazily on top of Mac’s chest. 

“Sometimes,” Dennis says when they’ve been quiet for long enough to make it uncomfortable, “I think about opening a bar or something, some shitty place right here in Philly.”

Mac smiles picturing it, “Let me guess, you’d be the bartender because of your exploding sex-appeal.”

“Of course I’d be the bartender,” Dennis confirms like it's not even a question, “you could be the bodyguard, you’re good at bossing people around.”

Mac thinks about arguing this insult on his character but decides against it, too much in bliss to start an argument. 

“What about Charlie?” He says instead and Dennis hums, taking a moment to think about it quietly. 

“He could be the janitor,” he finally decides, “he’s pretty familiar with dirt and stuff like that, right?”

“Right,” Mac agrees. 

They’re quiet for a moment, a long moment, then suddenly, Dennis looks up at him again, something wild in his look. 

“We could do it you know,” he says seriously, “I have the money, we could totally… do it, just like that.”

Mac looks at him carefully, trying to see if Dennis is fucking with him or not. When he doesn't answer Dennis continues, “It's not like its gonna be permanent, just something to do while we figure out what we actually want to do with the rest of our lives.”

Mac pretends to think about it for a moment, then he lets his fingers caress Dennis’s jaw, bringing him closer for a slow, delicate, kiss. Dennis closes his eyes for it and takes a hold of Mac’s wrist where it almost touches his throat. When they pull apart Dennis puts his lips on Mac’s fingertips, kissing them lightly one by one. Lastly, he puts his mouth against the palm Mac’s hand, whispering, “please?” before bringing it to his lips. 

“Only if it’s an Irish bar,” Mac lies and he smiles seeing Dennis pull a face of exaggerated disgust. 

“You are so tacky,” he mutters, letting go of Mac’s hand and laying back down, resting his head against Mac’s shoulder again.

Mac only smiles at the same insult he’s heard a thousand times before and so they go back to just laying there, Mac quietly playing with Dennis’s hair and Dennis breathing against his shoulder. It takes an eternity for any of them to speak again, just when Mac’s eyelids begin to feel heavy and his arm starts to cramp. 

“What did you mean by that, by the way?” Dennis asks in reference to- fuck if Mac knows.

“Hm?” is all Mac says in response and he feels Dennis shifting beside him. 

“Before,” Dennis says like it's supposed to be an explanation, “you were talking about me not knowing something. You were saying, like, ‘you don’t even know’, over and over again, fucking weird is all.”

Mac looks away, “you don’t even know…” he repeats the words slowly, like he's unfamiliar with them, like he doesn't have a clue what they meant. 

_ You don’t even know how much you mean to me. _

_ You don’t even know how much I need you. _

_ You don’t even know what I’m leaving behind, what I’m sacrificing for you. _

“Yeah,” Mac shrugs, “I don’t remember.”

  
  


~~~

  
  


When Mac wakes up, the buzz of post-blow jobs and making out sessions is mostly gone and instead replaced with a feeling of dread, a feeling of “what now?”. Dennis is still asleep, laying on his stomach with his arms obnoxiously pointing outwards, one over Mac’s chest and one hanging down from the bed. He looks a bit like a fallen angel and it crosses Mac’s mind that this probably is the only time he’s seen Dennis completely calm and still. He can’t decide if it suits him or not. 

After a quick shower in Dennis’s surprisingly functioning dorm room shower and taking an aspirin to dampen his hangover, Mac heads out to find Charlie. It's not even eight o’clock yet but the sun is bright even though the air is freezing cold. Sometime after Mac and Dennis inevitably dozed off to sleep, it started raining, not enough to cause huge puddles but enough to make the ground damp and the wind smell distinctly of rain. If Charlie isn't dead or abducted by some psych-major, Mac should have some idea of where he is. He knows it’ll be somewhere muddy and unpleasant for anyone who isn't batshit insane.

He walks slowly across campus, letting himself indulge in taking in every detail of his surroundings. Usually, Mac wouldn’t be observant like this, instead he’d be thinking about his new weed client, or Charlie’s latest crazy scheme, or the shape of Dennis’s cupids bow. He’d be too distracted to let himself take it all in but today is different. Today Mac isn’t really up for thinking. If he starts thinking he’d have to start looking for answers to questions he doesn't want to face yet, maybe never. Questions like, “how long can I keep pretending I'm trying to get into heaven?”, questions like, “how far am I willing to go for him, how much am I willing to sacrifice?”, questions like, “is this what it means to be in love?”

Mac doesn’t want to ask questions, and so instead he makes sure to take note of the shade of brown of the tree trunk, he memorizes the messy hairdo of the girl walking in a black, tight dress, probably hurrying home from a drunken one nightstand. He breathes in the damp morning air and he stretches his limbs towards the autumn sun. 

He prays, hoping, despite everything telling him otherwise, that he's not wasting his life because of this, that Dennis is his right path. He prays that the thing between them has meaning,_ has a purpose. _ But Mac isn’t sure who he’s praying for anymore, who he’s trying to convince; God or himself. 

When Mac finds Charlie he's been walking for about fifteen minutes in no particular direction at all. Charlie’s sitting under a tree outside a boring looking, sleek, building called “Davey Laboratory”. He’s sitting still, like he's just resting in the shade, but Mac can hear his hushed voice from far away and he instantly knows what Charlie is up to.

“I mean, how am I supposed to know what that is, that’s like an SAT word,” Charlie mumbles, “I already know I’m a bit weird, why do I need some pee-tee-CD or whatever, to explain it?” 

The ground is predictably muddy but Mac doesn’t mind ruining his pants so he sits down beside Charlie, silently observing his newest worm-friend dancing around in his open palm. 

“Exactly!” Charlie smiles, “You know what, you may have a brain the size of a grain of salt, but you get me, Ernie.” 

Charlie looks content, happy even and Mac wonders when he stopped talking to the worms. He figures it's about the same time his questions became too hard to ask out loud, he figures in the middle of all the confusion and chaos, he grew up.

“This one is a smart cookie, I tell you that,” Charlie explains, looking up at Mac beside him for the first time since he sat down. 

“What did he say?” Mac asks, indulging Charlie in his make-believe because for once he can't find a reason not to. 

Charlie thinks about it for a while, then says, “he said I shouldn't care about what bullshit labels people put on me, as long as I know what kind of crazy I am, I’ll be okay.”

Mac nodds, think it makes sense even though he also thinks Charlie should get help, actual doctors with checklists and prescriptions- kind of help, dealing with whatever kind of crazy he is. 

“So I’m guessing by that fresh hickey, that you've had a pretty good night” Charlie says, his teasing smile widening when Mac’s hand instantly flies up to cover his neck. 

“Please don't,” Mac sighs and Charlies eyes turn from teasing, to knowing, to pitying. 

“Oh,” is all he says and that is somehow worse than saying whatever he's actually thinking.

“I just-” Mac tries to explain, “It’s not that I don’t trust you or whatever shit you’re thinking, if I could, you would be the first person I’d talk about it to.”

Charlie nods slowly, carefully putting down the worm, Ernie, back on the soft, damp ground where he belongs.

“Are you guys… okay?”

“I think so,” Mac answers truthfully. He doesn't know what it means to really be okay but he doesn't feel like the world is ending, so that's something. He feels lighter somehow, like the shackles of guilt and shame are gone even though they should be heavier than ever. He feels like it’s easier to breathe now that the air isn’t thick with unresolved longing. He feels feels like he’s alive for the first time.

Charlie nods again and they stay quiet like that for a while. Mac watches how the sun sprinkles through the leaves, leaving strange, golden, shapes in Charlie's face. He watches Ernie making his way back below ground. He watches his own hands, clasped together in his lap, like they’re praying even though Mac doesn't know what he has left to pray for. 

“We talked about opening a bar,” he suddenly says, mostly just to change the subject, but he feels warm at the way Charlies face lightens up in excitement. 

  
“Please, can I be the mascot?” He pleads. 

“I…” Mac thinks about it, “I don’t know if bars have mascots but you could be the janitor.”

Charlies pouts, “but I have this whole green-man thing going on, I think it could really be-”

“You could be the janitor _ as well _ as the un-official mascot,” Mac bargains. 

Charlie considers it, nods to himself, and then offers Mac his hand. 

“I can agree to those terms,” he says and Mac hesitantly shakes his dirty, mud-ridden hand. 

They’re silent after that, a calm moment before Mac can’t stop himself from asking the question that's been bugging him since the very first time he met Charlie. 

“How come you can talk to the worms and I don’t?”

The words come out desperate, and ugly, and jealous, but Charlie doesn't mind, he just smiles like he’s been expecting this. Like he knows Mac’s been wondering. 

“I listen,” he shrugs, “and when I don’t hear anything I just make it up.”

  
Mac gapes, “but you- what about Ernie?” he argues. 

“I asked Ernie a question and he told me what I needed to hear,” Charlie says simply, “It’s just… sometimes I need someone else to tell me things are gonna be fine, it helps.”

Mac nods but he isn't sure he understands it completely. Maybe it's because Charlie is a different kind of crazy than he is, or maybe its because Mac grew afraid of asking questions a long time ago. Maybe, in time, he will be okay with listening and hearing nothing but his own thoughts bounce back. Maybe.

“Oh, and by the way,” Charlie says, “in case you were worried, I know things are gonna be fine.”

Mac smiles because even though so much in his life is twisted and wrong, Charlie is the one thing God got right. Mac smiles because he knows they’ll never leave each other no matter how crazy things get, how crazy _ they _ get.

  
Mac smiles because for the first time in his life he actually believes it; _ things are gonna be fine. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So its really over, huh. 
> 
> I want to thank everyone who's stuck around during these updates and left uplifting, amazing and motivating comments! They really do keep me going and I'm excited to see the reactions to this last chapter.  
Love you guys <333

**Author's Note:**

> Getting to hear from the people who read my writing really inspires and motivates me so if you liked this chapter and have any thoughts about it at all, let me know!  
If you want to message me privately or just, you know, say hi, my tumblr is "Masterofpretending" :)
> 
> (Btw, this fic is heavily inspired by the song "Boys Will Be Bugs" by Cavetown and I really recommend everyone to listen to it!)


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